Pretty Little Jinx
by RealLifeJoanWilder
Summary: Steve meets a girl who is convinced she is a jinx, bringing death and despair to all those around her. Can Steve and Mike convince her otherwise or is she really cursed?
1. Chapter 1

_**Wednesday, April 17, 1974**_

The day was cold and dreary for a late April morning in the Bay Area. Fog had rolled in overnight and settled in for a lengthy stay. Mist from the fog was heavy enough to make the many people standing around the six-foot deep hole in the ground damp and annoyed. The people under the canopy shivered but stayed dry. Everyone else threw hoods over their heads or opened umbrellas. Everyone, that is, except the slim brunette who stood behind the crowd wearing nothing but a black short-sleeved dress and pumps that were sinking into the soft ground. She was freezing and wet but didn't care; she figured it was her punishment and she needed to take it well. Shivering nonstop, she stood holding her black clutch with both hands in front of her and her head down.

Parked on the street behind her, an unmarked green police car sat in wait. Inside was a young, plainclothes homicide inspector named Steve Keller. He and four other inspectors with the San Francisco Police Department were watching a gravesite adjacent to the one the large group was gathered around. A man, believed to have murdered his ex-girlfriend, was expected to show up to visit his dead mother. Inspectors got a tip that this man often held a vigil at her grave on the day she died, April 17. Up to this point, this man had been in the wind, but the tip claimed that he would risk capture to hold his vigil. So, the police waited. Two men sat on the two entrances into the cemetery, one each sat on the streets surrounding the site, and Steve sat watching the actual grave. At first, he was annoyed by the fact that a funeral was being held right next to his trap. He figured that would cause his killer to stay away in case someone recognized him from the newspapers. The more he thought though, the more he realized that it might actually be a good thing; the man could use the crowd to blend in and show up undetected. At least he hoped for the latter.

Another reason he didn't mind sharing his stakeout with the funeral was that sad brunette in the black dress. She was attractive, and he was Steve, playboy extraordinaire, so it was no surprise that he noticed her among all the others. But it was more than a pretty face he saw getting out of a cab alone. It was more than the cute, sad little smile she gave him when she noticed him sitting in the car. And it was way more than looking slim and sexy in a short black dress. It was her aura; it struck him immediately like a dodgeball to the face. Unlike most girls' auras though, hers was dim and lonely. Not only did she come to a funeral by herself, but she talked to absolutely no one once she was there. Nobody even noticed her or made any attempt to engage her in a conversation. She simply stood in the back of the crowd, shivering, and acting like she hoped no one did notice she was there.

She reminded him of a kitten he met when he was six. Walking home from school one rainy day in March of 1951, young Steve heard a sad meow off to his right. Even though his mother and father had told him repeatedly to walk straight home after school, he went exploring through the trees and alleys until he found the source of the noise. It was a small beige and white kitten who was hiding in a wet cardboard box, soaked and shivering. Bending down to the kitten's level, the tiny creature looked up and gave Steve a please help me look and let out another pathetic meow. Feeling it was his duty to save this poor kitten, he grabbed it from the box and ran all the way home. At first, his mother was irritated at what her son had brought into her house, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it was a good thing Steve was doing, so she helped him dry, warm, and feed the kitten.

Steve's father was out of town on business, so his mother let Steve keep the kitten in his room that night. He got a fluffy towel for it and had his new pet lay right next to his bed. All night he played with the ball of fur, enjoying the fact that the kitten was happy and energetic thanks to him. When bedtime came, the kitten cried until Steve brought it up to the bed and cuddled with it. The two had become instant friends.

But all good things must come to an end, someone once said. When Steve's dad came home two days later, he was furious about the new addition. He insisted his son put it back where he got it at once, even loading the two into his car and driving them to the alley. It happened to start raining as they were driving, a fact that did not deter the senior Keller from demanding that Steve let the cat out of the car. With angry tears in his eyes, Steve pushed the kitten out of the backseat, but the feisty feline wanted no part of the rain or losing his saving grace, leaping back in and onto Steve's lap.

"See, Daddy?! He wants to stay! Please let him stay! He needs me!"

Instead of having any sympathy, Mr. Keller reached over the seat, grabbed the kitten, got out of the car, and walked a ways before coming back empty-handed. Steve sat in the back seat of his father's pale green 1949 Oldsmobile and bawled.

Eventually, the father-son relationship smoothed out as Steve forgave his father, but he never forgot the experience. He never forgot the look the kitten gave him as it shivered in that wet box. He never forgot how happy the kitten was once Steve took him home. And he never forgot how good it felt to be something's savior. This woman - wet, shivering, and alone - was that kitten. It seemed to Steve that she needed someone to wrap her in a warm blanket, take her home, and make her happy. Maybe she was his second chance. After all, his father wasn't around to throw her in his car and return her back to the cemetery.

"Any signs yet, Murphy?" a voice said on the police radio to one of the men at the main entrance, which snapped Steve out of his trance.

"No. You guys?" Murphy asked.

"Nothing. All the people have headed to that funeral. You see anything suspicious, Keller?" a voice asked.

Steve grabbed the mic. "No one looks like him, but then he might be wearing a hat or something because of the weather. I'm going to get out and mingle with the funeral crowd."

"Keep us posted," Murphy said.

Steve got out of the car. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, put his hands in his pockets, and slowly walked toward the nearby crowd. No one noticed an extra person walking up in the middle of the graveside service. He walked to the back of the crowd, which was closer to the grave he was interested in. He looked to his left, then to his right, then tried to see if anyone in the crowd looked out of place. Everything looked normal. He looked back to his left at where the brunette was standing. Another thing Steve noticed about her was how sad she seemed to be, sadder even that the lost kitten. Being sad at a funeral is not out of place, but he thought she looked a deeper kind of sad - the kind of sad that nothing could cure. She stood motionless, staring at the ground. Tears ran down her face and she didn't even wipe them away. He had no idea who she was or anything about her, but he decided he needed to take her sadness away. He wanted to see if he could make her smile. Everyone else in this crowd had someone to lean on, hold hands with, or simply stand next to. This girl had nothing. Why was she left out? He'd never leave her out. No, he'd be at her side all day every day if he had to. He would be at her side when they stood at the altar...when they stood at the door of their first home...when they brought home their son or daughter...

At that point, the group started breaking up. The service was over and people started slowly heading to their cars. The movement snapped Steve out of his fantasizing, and he resumed surveying the crowd. He looked over at the street and noticed Murphy driving by. He ran over to Murphy's car, which stopped in the middle of the street.

"He just came in. I'm going to go down the road a ways and park. Everyone else is headed this way as well," Murphy told Steve.

"You see what he's wearing?" Steve asked him.

"Not really."

"Okay." Steve walked away from the car and back to the curb. Before walking back onto the grass, he stopped and watched her again. The crowd had broken up, but she hadn't moved an inch. She wasn't staring at the ground anymore, but she was in the same spot and stance she'd been in throughout the service. Steve decided that he would try talking to her using the excuse of asking if she'd seen his killer. However, before he could get to her, a little blonde girl appeared.

"Amy! You came!" the little girl said excitedly as she ran toward the object of his desires.

Amy knelt down and outstretched her arms and the little girl ran into them, embracing Amy with a tight squeeze.

"Mother said you weren't coming," the little girl said through tears.

Amy pulled away from the hug. The little girl had tears running down her cheeks, so Amy wiped them away with her thumbs. "I couldn't not come," she told the girl.

"I'm not suppose to have heard this, but Mother thinks you made Father die," the little girl told her.

Amy made a face of disgust. She took a deep breath and looked into the little girl's eyes. "Your mother is just really sad right now. Sometimes when someone we really love dies, we are so sad that we say or do things we don't mean. Your father just got really sick. It was no one's fault."

"Is that what happened to your daddy?"

Amy took the little girl's hands in hers and nodded. "Yeah. He got really sick all of a sudden."

Steve didn't know what to make of all this sudden death these girls had lived through, but he didn't have any time to dwell on it. A very angry woman in a long black dress and black hat with a veil came storming up to the two girls.

"Jasmine! Come here this second!" the lady snapped.

The little girl reluctantly let go of Amy's hands and slowly backed up. The angry lady scooped her up and approached Amy, who had stood up.

With Jasmine in her arms, the lady got right in Amy's face. "I thought I told you you were NOT welcome here."

"Could we discuss this without Jasmine?" Amy asked quietly.

The woman completely ignored her. Jasmine hid her face into the woman's shoulder. "After all the pain you have caused my family, you have the nerve to show up here. Did you want to see your handy work up close? Make sure he was actually dead?! We trusted you...my husband thought the world of you. Why did you kill him? He wouldn't give in to your smutty advances?"

Amy's eyes started pouring out tears and she was shaking, but she did nothing but say, "I had nothing to do with this."

"Excuse me?! You had everything to do with this! You were the last one with him before he died!"

A man in a dark suit had approached the angry woman. He put his hand on her back. "Janice…"

"You were the last one with him and he died of suspicious circumstances. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's to blame!"

"Janice!" the man snapped. "Let's go. Now."

Janice turned around to follow the man, but stopped before proceeding. She turned back to a visibly shaken Amy. With a glare that could kill, she looked at Amy and growled, "Don't you EVER come near my family again. I hope the next time I see you, it's in a courtroom and you're up on murder charges. It WILL happen; I'll make sure." She turned around and stormed off. Jasmine looked up at Amy and watched her until her mother carried her out of sight.

Amy broke down, fell to her knees, and cried into her hands. Steve couldn't believe he had just witnessed such a terrible display of anger toward a person. Here Amy had just defended Janice to her daughter, and then the woman treats her like she did in front of the entire world. It made Steve angry for this woman he didn't even know.

He started to approach her, but before he could talk to her this time, he saw a familiar face walking up behind her. It was his killer, Nick Milani.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Wednesday, April 17, 1974**_

Milani was doing just what Steve had hoped he would - trying to blend into the crowd of mourners to avoid detection. Steve saw that Murphy was coming behind Milani but was still a ways away. This capture was on Steve. He looked around and saw that the funeral crowd had thinned considerably and that most people were back at their cars. He had two choices: let Milani get to the grave and start his vigil before making his presence known or make it known now. He wanted to get this arrest over with before Amy left the cemetery and he never saw her again, but not knowing if Milani was carrying or not left him with only the choice of backing off until he and the other inspectors could clear the area more. However, like Murphy's Law states, if something can go wrong, it will...and it did.

On his way over to his mother's grave, which Steve was standing closer to, Milani looked up and locked eyes with the inspector. Steve wasn't sure how, but Milani must have recognized him as police because once Milani looked at him, he immediately stopped and tensed up. Steve was then left with the other option - take this guy down now. Hoping that his instincts were wrong, Milani pushed his hands further into his jacket pockets and started slowly walking toward his mother's grave. He barely made it a foot.

Steve positioned his left hand closer to the gun in its holster. "Nick Milani," he said sternly.

Amy took her hands away from her face, stood up, and looked to see what was going on around her. She first looked at Steve, who was standing in front of her, then back at Milani, who was standing to her right.

Milani, playing dumb, looked at Steve and simply asked, "Me?"

Steve ignored his stupid comment. "Nick Milani, you're under arrest for the murder of Connie Williams."

Milani walked closer to Amy, who was now frozen in place and looking back and forth between the two men. He laughed and said to Steve, "You cops are a riot. You can't even get the right man."

"Don't make this difficult," Steve warned.

Milani walked right up behind Amy. "Difficult?" He laughed out loud. "It won't be difficult," he started before he whipped a gun out of his jacket pocket, wrapped his arm around Amy's neck, and pointed it right at her head, "because I'm not going anywhere."

Amy gasped. Her mind was going as fast as it ever had. _Stay still...squirm...yell...keep quiet...don't move…_ Despite her many other options, she started panicking.

The second Milani touched Amy, Steve had his gun drawn and aimed right at Milani's head. "Let the girl go," he said as calmly as he could.

Murphy came up behind Milani and had his gun aimed at the man's back. Several other inspectors and uniformed officers joined in, making a human barrier around the killer. Any remaining mourners swiftly fled the area.

"I'll let her go once I'm out of this cemetery. She's my ticket to freedom."

Against his better judgment, Steve muttered, "The hell she is. Just how do you think you'll get out of here anyway?"

"Easily, because you all are gonna drop your weapons and let me go. You wouldn't want me to waste this poor thing, would you?"

Amy looked at Steve and gave him a look that seemed to say _please don't let him do that. _He tried to give her a look that said _trust me_, but he doubted the message got through.

Steve did nothing for a moment; he simply kept his gun aimed right at Milani's head. "What if I don't? You can't seriously be stupid enough to think we're all just going to let you escape again. And you sure as hell aren't leaving with her."

Amy wondered what kind of loudmouth cop she'd gotten so lucky to have on her side. _Is HE serious? Like insulting the guy who has a gun to my head is the best idea ever_, she thought. Looking at Steve, she wondered if he was all looks and no brains. Figuring she was now only seconds from dying, she closed her eyes and prayed she didn't even know when it happened.

"You know, for someone who vowed to serve and protect, you sure don't seem to care about this adorable creature's fate."

Amy felt like throwing up. Between the smells of cigarettes, sweat, and liquid courage, she was already nauseated, but this criminal finding her adorable pushed it over the edge. She took a deep breath but then wondered if puking on Milani's shoes would get her out of the mess.

"I did vow that," Steve responded. "And that's exactly what I'm doing. So let's say we all back off and let you leave. I know what you'll do next."

"And just what is that, Genius?"

"Get rid of the hostage. Chalk it up to collateral damage. You already have one body on your conscious...what's one more? But here's the thing. She's not collateral damage to me, and she dies over my dead body," Steve told him in no uncertain terms.

Amy opened her eyes and looked differently at the cop in front of her. Did he just tell a crazy man that he'd die before he got her killed? He was clearly nuts and would now probably get them both killed, but she couldn't help but feel a small wave of warmth come over her. No one had ever said anything like that to her or about her. Did he really care that much...or was this just part of the job? That was it. He'd have said that about anyone in her position. _We're all gonna die_, she decided.

"Arrogant little fuck, aren't you?" Milani switched the position of his gun, moving it from Amy's head to Steve. She saw him move his finger as if he was pulling the trigger, which, for reasons she didn't know, caused her to gasp and shout, "No!"

Milani put the gun back on her and turned his head. "No? You don't want me to waste this cop? He said he'd die for you. You wanna die instead?"

Amy shook her head as Milani shoved the barrel of the gun into her right temple. "N...n...n...no. I...ju...just don't want...want…"

"Don't want what?!"

"I...I...I don't want you to kill him," she finally spit out. "Kill me. I have nothing to live for anyway."

"You don't…" Milani laughed and shook his head. "He'll die for you...you'll die for him...you two aren't knockin' boots, are ya?" He laughed again. "Boy, did I get lucky when I got you! A cop's girlfriend is the perfect bargaining chip!"

Steve was losing his patience. "Shut up!" he yelled.

Amy couldn't figure out which scenario was better: let Milani think they were a couple or correct him. The latter seemed the best for Steve's sake. "No! No...you...you got it all wrong. I don't even know his name! Besides, if we were a couple, I'd have something to live for, wouldn't I?"

Steve couldn't help but be flattered by what Amy had just said, but he realized he needed to keep his head in the game, so his expression never changed as Milani stared at him.

"Then you're just a humanitarian, huh? That's sick. No pig's life is worth it, especially when they frame you for murder."

"You weren't framed and you know it," Steve growled. "Innocent men don't run."

Milani looked all around at the other officers. "You know, I think this will go a lot better if it was just you and me, Cop. What you say you get rid of your friends and then I'll let this little bird fly."

Steve was only an Inspector, but he was actually the highest-ranking man there. Pleas from the others to not believe Milani were well-intentioned, and majority rule should have gone into effect, but all Steve could think about was getting Amy out of danger. He holstered his gun and motioned for the other officers and inspectors to do the same.

"Keller, are you insane?" Murphy barked.

"Put your weapon away, Inspector," Steve commanded without taking his eyes off Amy and Milani.

Murphy grumbled a string of curse words under his breath as he and the others holstered their guns.

"Now make them go bye bye." Milani shoved the gun harder into Amy's skin. She whimpered.

Steve swallowed hard and told the men to take off. Again there were protests, but everyone eventually did what they were told, slowly getting into their cars and driving away while frantically getting on their radios and planning a way to get Steve out of the situation.

"Alright, it's just us now," Steve told Milani. "How about you let her go?"

"I know you, you know. I didn't recognize you at first, but yeah...you're that old dude's partner, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Stone. Captain Stone or whatever."

Steve slowly nodded. "_Lieutenant_ Stone is my partner. So what?"

Turning his attention to Amy, Milani announced, "You know who your hero here is, Darlin'? He's Stone's lap dog!"

Amy smiled nervously, fearing a wrong reaction would spell the end.

"What's your name? I saw you in the paper once, bragging about some case you'd solved. Like I said, you're an arrogant fuck. What is it...something that starts with a K, no? I couldn't get past that arrogant smug look on your face. No wonder you're Stone's lacky; you both think your shit don't stink."

"Keller. Inspector Keller," Steve growled.

"Ah, yeah. I was close." Milani turned his attention to his hostage. "Now you can't say you don't know his name. If all goes well, maybe you two can hit the town later, hmm? I'd join you, but I don't plan on being in the country long." He repeatedly jabbed the barrel of the gun into her head.

Steve was growing more nervous as he watched Amy growing more nervous. He could tell she was trying her best to breathe and stay calm, but he could also tell she was failing miserably. Hitting the town with her sounded wonderful, but it wouldn't happen if he never got her out of this. _If_ she lived through it, she surely would never speak to him again.

"You said you'd let her go if everyone left. How about you do that, hmm? I'll be your hostage instead," Steve offered desperately.

Milani made a face at the idea. "I dunno...she's prettier than you, and in those shoes, she ain't gettin' far. Plus, I may need her if you get out of hand."

"So how're we getting out of this then?" Steve asked. "What's your plan on getting out of the country?"

"You know why I know Stone?"

Steve knew exactly how. Mike had been the one who initially made the case against him. "Yeah. What's your point?"

"Why isn't he here? I'd think he'd love to wallow in my finest hour."

"He had other cases to work on. Look, just let her go…"

Milani sighed loudly. "Why are you so hellbent on me letting her go?! Maybe I like the feel of a female body." He gently ran a finger down her bare arm.

It was all Amy could do to hold in her breakfast. She gagged and leaned over, determined to throw up on her captor. Just the thought of being within 100 feet of Milani made her want to die. That didn't happen, but thanks to nerves, her stomach did manage to get revenge on the man's shoes.

"Shit...you kidding me?!" Milani pushed Amy away as fast as he could. "Bitch, I just bought these shoes!"

Steve wasted no time grabbing Amy and dragging her weak, cold body toward him. He sat her down on the ground and kneeled beside her while she continued to retch. Holding her tightly, he held her hair back and calmly kept telling her everything would be okay. Milani stood and tried to figure out what to do about his shoes. While muttering one curse word after another, he finally decided to hell with his shoes and took them off, content to go on with the kidnapping in his stocking feet. He then pointed the gun at Amy. "I oughtta off her!"

With an arm still tightly around Amy's waist, Steve quickly put his other arm up as if to stop Milani. "Leave her alone. Just tell me what you want so we can all be on our way."

"What do I want? I want Stone to admit that he was wrong! I want him to find out who really killed Connie! Them two had some kind of conspiracy going. So since he's not here, you're gonna take me to him," Milani growled, shifting his target from Amy to Steve.

Amy, feeling well enough to sit back up, did so and leaned against Steve while she shivered. Being a gentleman, Steve immediately took off his overcoat and put it over Amy's shoulders. Grabbing the sleeves, she wrapped it tightly around her shoulders and arms. As she was about to thank him, Milani interrupted.

"Get up, Keller. You got a car, right?"

"Yeah, right over there," Steve answered, pointing toward the green Galaxie 500 that waited along the road. Steve stood up, helping Amy to her feet at the same time. He started walking with her toward the car, but Milani rushed over and yanked her away.

"She stays here," he snarled.

Steve got defensive. "The hell she does! I'm not leaving her here by herself! She needs to get warm." He hastily grabbed her hand and led her toward the car.

"You want her puking all over you next? She's a pain in the ass! She ain't goin' anywhere!" Milani grabbed her other hand and jerked her away from Steve.

The sudden movements back and forth made her dizzy, which caused her to sway. Steve dashed over to her and grabbed her before she had a chance to fall. He then looked up at Milani and shot him a killer glare.

"You want to talk to the lieutenant? Then she comes with, end of story." Not waiting for a reply, Steve guided Amy to the car, and, after opening the driver's door, sat her down and had her scoot over beside him on the bench seat.

Fearing they'd take off without him, Milani ran to the car and quickly got in the passenger's side, scooting uncomfortably close to Amy. She immediately got as close to Steve as she could.

After starting the car, Steve grabbed for the mic, but Milani put a kibosh on that.

"I have to tell them I'm coming back to the station," Steve informed him.

"No you don't, Pig. Just drive."

Steve sighed and put the car in drive, pulling away from the curb and driving toward the exit. While he wound his way around the cemetery, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Milani had his gun jabbed into Amy's side.

"Is that necessary?" Steve inquired as he made his way out of the front gates and onto El Camino Real. "It's not like she's going anywhere."

"This is my insurance, Keller. You don't drive to the station, she dies. Simple as that."

Amy let out another whimper and prayed that Steve wouldn't try any tricks.

Steve shook his head and drove on. As he drove out of Colma and into Daly City, he saw that even with his coat on, Amy was still shaking.

"You can turn the heat on if it will make you feel better," he said gently.

"I can?" she asked weakly, turning and looking at the man she was hoping would end up being her hero instead of the cause of her demise.

Turning her way, he smiled and nodded.

She reached in front of her and turned on the heater. "Thanks," she replied shyly.

Looking down at her lap, and taking the occasional glance at the gun in her side, Amy tried everything to distract herself from crying. The warmth of Steve's coat was helping, but she was still scared out of her wits.

"I'm sorry," she quietly mumbled in Steve's direction.

"Sorry? About what?"

"I dunno. I shouldn't have been there. And getting sick didn't help."

"Hey, it's my shoes you ruined! You should be apologizing to me, not him!" Milani interjected.

They both ignored him. "You have nothing to be sorry about…is it Amy? That little girl at the funeral called you Amy I think." Realizing that this admission made him look like some kind of perverted stalker, he tried to cover. "I mean, I think I overheard that while I was, you know, people watching." He cringed.

She looked him in the eyes and nodded. "Amy. Amy Johnson." She tried to give him a smile, but it barely showed.

Steve's smile did come through. "It's nice meeting you, Amy. Call me Steve."

Steve. Steve. She ran his name over in her head as if she was trying to leave a permanent impression on her mind. "Thanks for not leaving me there, Steve." She shivered before she could say anything else.

"You feel alright?"

The concern was evident in his voice. His voice...Amy liked his voice. There was something comforting and sincere about it. It wasn't just the words but the tone as well. Despite the danger they were in, Steve's tone never wavered; it remained calm and confident. It was calming to her, and she wanted to keep hearing it.

"Amy? You okay?"

"Hmm?" She shook her head in embarrassment, realizing that she'd somehow zoned out listening to him. "Oh, um...not really. My stomach still feels rotten. But I promise to try and not get sick in your car. Your, uh, bosses might not like that."

"Sure, be worried about his damn car…" Milani muttered.

"Will you shut up!?" Steve blurted. "Where you're going, you'll get all the free clothes and shoes you could ever want!"

Amy smiled. Steve was still a loudmouth, and she questioned his tactics, but there was something about him she liked.

He turned his attention back to the woman sitting next to him. "You can lean your head on my shoulder if you need to. Just close your eyes and try not to worry. It'll all work out; I promise you."

This time, her attempt at a smile did come through. "Thanks. I'll try my best." Leaning her head over, she nestled it on his right shoulder and closed her eyes. The roominess of his coat and the feel of his jacket on her face felt more soothing than it had a right to, given the situation. The last thing she remembered was Steve getting onto the 280 and heading into the city.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Wednesday, April 17, 1974**_

As she slept, Amy's subconscious did some detective work. Several months before, she had sat and read the newspaper at her dining room table. The front page story in that day's edition of _The San Francisco Chronicle_ was about a man who was wanted for the brutal rape and murder of his ex-girlfriend, Connie Williams. After a lengthy investigation, Homicide inspectors, led by one Lieutenant Michael Stone, had determined that this ex, a man named Nicholas Milani, had initially stalked and harassed Ms. Williams before killing her in cold blood. They also discovered that she had taken out a restraining order on Mr. Milani, which he repeatedly violated.

"And they say there are no nice guys left in the world," Amy's cousin and roommate Karen muttered sarcastically over her shoulder. "Makes you want to avoid humans at all costs."

"You think that's bad? Listen to this," Amy said, turning the page. "At his arraignment, Mr. Milani made it clear that he felt he was framed by the deceased and the police. He specifically mentioned Homicide Lieutenant Michael Stone in his rant, vowing to get revenge on the man before he was forcefully escorted out of the courtroom. Once outside the courtroom, witnesses heard him shout back to Lieutenant Stone, who was present for the arraignment, that he would 'get someone he loves.' "

Amy and Karen looked at each other. "Damn," Karen said. "Good thing the guy's behind bars. If I were this Stone guy, I'd send my wife and kids to New York."

Traffic was thicker than expected, which caused Steve to slam on his brakes at one point to avoid a rear end collision. The lurch, and the dream, woke Amy with a start. Promptly she turned to her right and looked right at Milani. He was busy looking forward at traffic. She then turned to Steve who was doing the same thing. Sinking in the seat and trying to use Steve's coat as a cocoon, Amy sat for the rest of the five minute ride worrying about what would happen when they all got to the station.

* * *

After pulling into the parking lot, Steve took a subtle glance in the rear view mirror and saw Murphy and the rest nonchalantly pulling in behind him. Looking back down, he pulled into a parking space, put the car in park, and grabbed the mic once again.

Milani shoved the gun hard into Amy's side as a reminder to Steve who was in charge. "Now what do you think you're doing?" the kidnapper barked.

"You wanna talk to Stone? Then I'm having him meet us down here. No other choice." Steve asked the person on the other end of the radio to contact Mike and have him meet them in the parking lot.

"You think you can see it in your heart to let her go now?" Steve asked, shooting Milani daggers. "She's no use to you anymore."

Amy slipped her arms through Steve's coat sleeves as she looked back and forth between the two.

Milani looked at Steve and then at Amy. "Where's she gonna go?"

"Up to my office."

"I won't say a word to anyone, I swear!" she blurted out. "I'll tell them all you're innocent!"

The way Milani stared at her frightened her, so she ended up leaning up against Steve as if he would shield her even though he was at her back.

"Fine, but don't you think of trying anything cute, Amy _Johnson_. If you do, I promise you I will find you and kill you. How many of you can there be in this city?"

She swallowed hard and wondered if there was an empty island somewhere she could move to.

Slowly, Milani opened the passenger door and backed out of the car, waving for Amy to follow. Looking back at Steve for reassurance, she slid out of the car after he mouthed that it would be alright. Upon her exiting the car, Steve opened his door and stood up, never really taking his eyes off Milani.

Amy stood up and looked at Steve. A feeling of dread came over her, chilling her to the bone. Wondering if this was a ruse to get Milani within shooting distance of Mike, she decided she had no desire to leave Steve's side. Rushing around the car, she stood by him, looping her arm through his.

"Why don't you go upstairs, hmm? Fourth floor, Homicide. Someone will show you where my desk is."

Shaking her head, she insisted she was staying put. She looked out behind Milani and saw all the same men from the cemetery slowly approaching them, a few of them with guns drawn.

"Amy, really, everything will be fine. Go upstairs and wait for me, okay? After this is over, I'll take you to the hospital to get checked out."

"I'm fine," she said rapidly. "I just don't want to go upstairs." She never took her eyes off Milani, who was now walking toward the front of the car, his gun aimed right at Steve.

"Get her out of here already, or I'll shoot her right here in front of you! How would that make you feel, Romeo?"

Any innocent person getting killed in front of him would haunt him forever, especially if he had been able to prevent it somehow, but he had a feeling that Amy's death would absolutely ruin him...and he had no idea why he felt that strongly about it. Maybe because she was being super-protective of him.

Amy furiously shook her head and looked up at Steve. "No. I'm not leaving you. No, something bad is gonna happen," she tried to say softly enough that Milani couldn't hear.

Not taking his eyes off Milani, Steve said, "Amy, we'll be fine. I don't want you getting hurt, so please go over there and go inside the building. You can stay down here if you want, but you're not staying out here."

"But…"

"But nothing. Don't make me arrest you for not following police orders."

She took back her arms and folded them over her chest. Biting her lip to keep from crying again, she slowly wandered toward the building.

As she passed Milani, he said snidely without looking at her, "It was great meeting you, Amy. Let's do this again sometime." He added a chuckle for good measure.

She continued to wander toward the door to the station. A tortoise could have passed her as slow as she was walking. She just couldn't go inside and hear a gunfight. There had to be something she could do. While she thought, she watched a tall man in a fedora and overcoat walk quickly toward the group. _Must be Lieutenant Stone_, Amy thought. _I wonder if he knows what he's in for._

Standing by the door but never going inside, Amy leaned against the building and watched Milani and Stone "negotiate." Apparently one condition of the discussion was Milani giving up his gun, because Stone had barely said two words before the murderer handed over his piece to Steve. After that, everything appeared calm, but she couldn't shake the article. There had to be a reason her brain recalled that rather insignificant moment. Was there a clue she needed to pick up on? She recalled that he felt he was being framed then, and he clearly still felt that way. That had to be what they were discussing as she stood and watched, and it didn't seem to be a problem so far. So what else was there?

Voices started raising as it appeared that Milani was raking the lieutenant over the coals. Amy kept her eyes on her kidnapper though. Even though she knew the man had several eyes and weapons on him, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to this. What wanted man insists on being driven to the police station to simply have a conversation with someone and then just surrender? This guy was not the white flag type.

As she watched, she noticed something odd. Even though the shirt and jacket he had on were long, whenever he'd get particularly animated, they would raise, and Amy swore there was something sticking out of the top of his pants' pocket on his right side. When they lowered, they caught on whatever it was. Milani also seemed particularly quick in pulling that part of his shirt down. _What is he hiding?_ she wondered. _A knife? A gun? _ It looked too small to be either.

While she continued to look at the mystery object, she also kept trying to decipher the article. Milani's utterance of his desire to go after someone Mike loved kept gnawing at her. _Is that the key?_ But that didn't make sense in the present situation. She didn't know thing one about Mike, but she knew his wife wasn't there, and she doubted any of the officers were his sons. If it was someone in his family Milani was after, this wouldn't have ended up in the parking lot of the police station. Logic and years of watching cop shows told her that.

The men seemed at a stalemate, so Amy temporarily averted her gaze to Steve. Even in what seemed to be a tense situation, the man seemed to be cool and focused. _I need someone like him in my life_, she thought. _Someone who can keep me grounded during panic attacks._

Her mind drifted to her anxiety. It could be almost crippling and often had been as of late. The stress of her boss dying suddenly and mysteriously, along with the constant bullying and accusations from his wife, had done irreparable damage to her psyche. She felt like she was in a constant state of panic. The rose-colored glasses people wore to look at the world were solid black on her. Everything looked scary or depressing, even things she always counted on to make her smile. Her mind was on a constant loop of hate to the point where she had convinced herself that she was responsible for her boss' demise; not literally of course, but her presence somehow contributed to his death as if she were some kind of death jinx. This perpetual state of tension caused her to lay awake at night and cry. Trying to sleep during the day didn't work either. The dark cloud hung over her like a stalled storm, dropping misery on the same saturated spot.

Yet here she had been, in the arms of and at the gunpoint of a man whose concern for her life was nonexistent, and she'd fallen asleep in the car. Sure, she had gotten sick on him, but once Steve had gotten ahold of her, the massive fear diminished. The way he kept saying that she was okay and that he wasn't going to let her get hurt warmed her heart and calmed her nerves. Maybe it was just protocol in those situations, and maybe after this was over, he'd go his way and she'd go hers, but a small voice told her she was wrong; this was different.

That small voice interrupted her fantasizing with a reminder of the loved ones bit. Loved ones...like partners? Instead of looking at Steve like a 14 year old with a crush, she looked at him for what he was - a partner. If TV had taught her anything, it was that guys who work closely together, like cops, often form a family-like bond. Brothers, son and father...son and father….

Mike looked old enough to be Steve's father, and Steve seemed to be standing awfully close to Mike as if to protect him. Not being an expert on body language, Amy wondered if she was wrong or reading into something that wasn't there, but Steve's behavior didn't seem to say that he hated his partner or vice versa. So...could Milani be after Steve instead? If Milani hated one cop, there was a good chance he hated more, and if Mike had worked on the case with Steve at all, then he'd hate him too.

Suddenly, her panic tripled. This man who had surrendered his main means of defense to save her, who had selflessly attempted to calm her...whose cologne, left behind on his coat, was possibly intoxicating her to the point of irrational decisions, was about to be killed right in front of her eyes.

Her sights were locked on Nick Milani as she tried to slow her breathing, stop the sudden hot flash, and get the giant butterflies out of her stomach. _I have to do something...I have to do something...I gotta get Steve's attention. _ This proved difficult as she couldn't figure out a way to accomplish this without also getting Milani's attention as well. As it should have been, Steve's focus was on the prisoner. She tried waving and jumping up and down, but when he did notice, he scowled and tried subtly gesturing for her to go into the building. Changing her approach, she tried playing charades, but Steve clearly had no idea what she was trying to tell him. Amy could tell he was becoming quite irritated with her as he stopped looking at her altogether, turning his body in a way so that his back was to her. This took his main line of sight off Milani and onto Mike, a move that did not sit well with Amy, especially when the murderer put his right hand over his pocket and curled his fingers as if preparing to grab the object.

Her next thought was to just shout at him, but she had seen that method fail a few times on TV and in movies, so she did the only thing she could think to do: sneak up behind Milani and somehow disarm him herself. After taking off her heels, she checked to see if anyone else was looking at her. It seemed as if no one knew or cared she was there, so she started tiptoeing back toward the group of men. Walking shrunken down, she picked up speed, never taking her eyes off Milani. No one noticed her approaching...nor did they notice the 1965 black Impala racing through the parking lot. The driver had already made one slower sweep through that no one noticed, but that was merely a reconnaissance mission. This time, it was war.

As the Impala drove toward them, and as voices rose, Nick Milani grabbed for the object in his pocket. Now all bets were off. Amy straightened herself and took off toward him shouting, "Steve! He's got…" She never got the rest out. Out the back passenger's side window of the Impala, the barrel of a rifle stuck out and a shadowy figure in the backseat fired off two rounds. One hit the building and the other hit Amy in her left side.

Everyone else ducked down, grabbed their service weapons, took cover behind cars, and shot at the Impala. When it was all said and done, the Impala was missing a couple windows and a tire, it ended up wrapped around a utility pole, the driver was half through the windshield, and the shooter had minor cuts and bruises. The majority of the uniformed officers and inspectors ran after the car. Murphy, Stone, and Keller were left behind to wonder what the hell had just happened. The lieutenant and Murphy scooped up the unscathed Milani off the ground, chastising him for his little stunt. As they picked him up off the cement, the object Amy had been so worried about fell out of his pocket.

Steve bent down and picked it up. "Mace? You had Mace in your pocket?! And just what the hell were you planning to do with this?" he practically shouted.

"I plead the fifth," Milani replied snottily.

"Yeah, we'll see how far that gets you, wise guy," Mike told him. "Right now, you can go plead all the amendments you want in a holding cell." He turned his attention to Murphy. "Take him away, and then get a crew down here. This whole parking lot is now a crime scene," he groaned before wandering off toward the wreckage.

Looking over the small spray can in his hand, Steve mused, "How'd he even get one of these? I thought they were only available to police forces and the military." Then he let out a small chuckle. "Is this what you were trying to tell me about, Amy?"

When his question was followed by silence, he finally looked up and saw her lying supine on the ground with a pool of blood collecting at her left side. Without a second thought, Steve dropped the can and bolted over to her side, shouting for Mike to get an ambulance. Mike, alarmed over his partner's sudden panic, dashed back to the building and saw Steve kneeling down next to Amy, muttering her name and checking her pulse.

"What the hell happened?!" Mike asked.

Steve pushed his coat out of the way and saw her dress was damaged where the blood was escaping. "She was shot! Get that ambulance!"

As Steve went back to trying to get Amy to respond, Mike got into a nearby squad car and called for medics. He then rushed back to Steve's side to find him holding his wadded up coat on her wound to ebb the blood flow.

"They're on their way," Mike told his clearly worried partner. Steve's brow was accumulating sweat rapidly, and he was breathing like he'd just finished running a marathon. With his right hand holding the coat on her side, his left hand was free to caress Amy's pallid face.

"Come on, Amy, wake up for me please. You're safe now; he's gone. Wake up, please? Don't give up on me yet. You haven't even given me a chance to…"

Seeing Mike standing beside him, he chose not to finish his sentence.

The older man put a supportive hand on Steve's shoulder. "Who is she?"

Without looking up, he stammered, "She...uh...she's…" He coughed, finding it suddenly quite difficult to explain the situation to Mike. "Milani took her hostage at the cemetery. That's how we ended up here. He had her at gunpoint and made me drive here. And, well, you know, I couldn't let him…"

Mike patted his shoulder. "I understand, Buddy Boy. I...understand." He followed his statement with a smirk. Yes, Steve was a cop first and foremost, and a damn good one at that, but the man rarely shied away from a pretty face. Mike could tell just by Steve's heightened reaction that there was more to this girl than just innocent victim.

Deciding to give his partner some space, Mike stood up and told him that he would check on the ambulance. As he walked away, he smiled, shook his head, and muttered, "That boy."

After what seemed like an eternity to Steve, Amy opened her eyes to find him looking at her. He was blurry and she couldn't really hear what he was saying. He sounded more like Charlie Brown's teacher than an actual human. Then the pain hit her. She winced but tried not to cry out. She tried blinking several times so she could see more clearly, but her vision only improved a little. Her hearing cleared up enough that she could hear Steve tell her that it was okay for her to scream if she needed. She took a quick assessment of her situation; she seemed to be lying on the ground and Steve was holding something on her left side where the pain was coming from. Her head was killing her. The pain in her side was throbbing and it was only a matter of seconds before both pains caused her to start crying.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Steve told her in a reassuring voice. "You're going to be fine. The ambulance should be here soon."

There it was again - that calming voice. "Ambulance?" Amy asked, confused. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it right now, okay?" Steve was afraid she'd start panicking or something if she remembered all the details. "What's your name?" he asked her to check brain function.

Amy paused for a second. She suddenly couldn't remember her own name. "Uh…" She thought hard, then finally said, "Amy. Amy Johnson." She winced again. "And you're Steve uh…?"

"Keller." He smiled. "I'm glad you came back to me." Second guessing what he said, he quickly added, "I'm glad you're awake."

"Hi, Steve Keller," she said back. She put her hand up to her left side and ended up putting her hand on top of Steve's. "What's wrong with my side?"

"Well…" Steve started, but Amy pulled at his hand and the coat he had wadded up under it. She turned her head to the left and saw that the coat had quite a bit of blood on it. She threw herself into a panic attack, complete with hyperventilating.

Steve quickly put his coat back with his right hand and put his left hand on her right cheek.

"Hey, look at me. Look at me."

Amy tried very hard to look at him.

"Try to breathe with me, okay?" He started breathing in slowly and out slowly. In and out. In. Out. Amy tried very hard to concentrate on his breathing and soon she was back to breathing instead of hyperventilating.

"Good. That's better," he told her.

"Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? It's okay to react that way. I'm guessing you haven't been shot a lot."

Amy tried to laugh, but it hurt her head tremendously. "No. So, did that guy shoot me?" Amy asked, her thoughts coming back to her. "He had something in his pocket, and…"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, but it wasn't him who shot you. Someone drove by and started shooting at all of us. You...just got caught." The sadness came through crystal clear. "But you're going to be okay, and he's not getting away from us again."

"He wasn't shot? People...shooting from a car? What? I thought he had a gun and was…" She lost consciousness before she could finish.

Steve began patting her face. "Amy...Amy...come on. Stay with me. I promised you that you'd make it through this alright, so don't make a liar out of me. Come on, Beautiful, wake up for me."

Moaning, she muttered, "Beautiful? What's beautiful? My head hurts so bad. Why does my head hurt?" She began tossing her head back and forth, never opening her eyes. Then she started bawling again.

"Steve? Where are you? Don't leave me! Don't leave me, Steve!"

Looking up, he saw the ambulance pulling into the parking lot. He took his right hand off her side and grabbed her left, squeezing it tightly. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. The ambulance is here too, so you'll be out of pain very soon."

"I'm so sorry," she cried as an officer flagged the ambulance down and stopped it by where Amy was laying.

"Sorry? About what?"

Instead of answering his question, she begged, "Don't leave me. I don't wanna go alone."

The two attendants quickly brought the stretcher over and, after forcing Steve out of the way, lifted Amy off the ground and wheeled her over to the ambulance. The entire time, Amy kept trying to grab for Steve's hand, mumbling, "Stay with me; I can't go alone."

After she was loaded into the back, one attendant asked Steve, "You coming along?"

Without a second thought, he told one of the officers to tell Mike he'd be at the hospital and jumped in the back of the ambulance.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Wednesday, April 17, 1974**_

Steve's time with Amy was cut short the minute they got to San Francisco General Hospital. The doctors and nurses rushed her back to the emergency room, stopping Steve at the door. He then spent the next few hours pacing the floors of the emergency, surgery and recovery, and general waiting rooms. Between every room they moved her to, someone would come out, find Steve, and explain that she was being moved and did she have any family they could call? "We can't really tell you much," they all regrettably explained, "since you're not family." They all insisted she was fine though. The whole confidentiality thing annoyed Steve to no end. What would it harm if he knew exactly what she was going through? Would she care? She seemed to like him; she did insist he accompany her to the hospital. _I should tell them I married her in my mind_, he jokingly thought in a moment of frustration.

When Mike stepped into Steve's current waiting room, he found his partner running his hand through his hair and wearing a hole in the carpet. He wondered if this girl wasn't really some girlfriend Steve was keeping from him.

"Any news?" Mike asked, digging through his coat pocket for change.

Without looking up, Steve replied, "All they'll tell me is that she's fine. Just fine. They keep using the word fine. What does that word mean anyway? Everyone says they're fine whether they are or not. The other day I said I was fine when I had a raging headache! Is that how fine she is? Or how about a couple weeks ago when we finally made that collar after a month? I said I was fine then too when I was actually really happy. Is _that_ how fine she is?"

Temporarily abandoning his search for coffee money, Mike approached the young man and put his hands on his shoulders. "Let's just assume that since they only used the word fine, that she's pulling through just...fine. If it was worse, they would tell you."

"But I'm not _family_," he snapped.

"You are a cop though; that brings certain privileges. Look, why don't you have a seat, huh? Have you had anything to eat, drink? It's well-past lunch time, and I'm guessing you didn't even notice."

Steve sighed and shook his head.

"Well then maybe we should get something before you wilt away to nothing."

"Mike, I'm fine right now. I wanna know what the hell happened out there!"

"Yeah, so does the brass. And so do I! What the hell were all of you thinking, letting him drive you to the station like that? And how many of you were there? Not one of you thought of a plan to take him down?!"

Not expecting a lecture, Steve stood still as a poker, his heart beating a bit faster than before. "I...I just…"

"You just what?"

He suddenly felt 12 again, standing in front of his father after getting caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. "I was protecting Amy...the hostage. Sir. Milani said he'd harm her unless it was just he and I."

Mike's piercing blue eyes continued to bore into Steve's soul, making the inspector very uneasy.

"I was just trying to save an innocent woman's life." He couldn't think of anything else to say to make the situation any better.

After letting out a sigh, Mike put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "I know, and that's admirable, but the captain and chief are going to ask how she ended up a hostage in the first place, and why the situation wasn't resolved at the cemetery."

He hadn't even thought about that. A feeling of dread swept over him.

"We'll have to sit down and work every detail out, convince them that you driving Milani to the station was the only option to save the hostage...Amy." Though he too was a bit upset at the day's events, Mike knew Steve felt a thousand times worse, so he gave the young man a reassuring smile.

"Yeah." Steve took a deep breath and began pacing the room again. "So, uh, what happened with that shooting? Who was in that car? I don't think any of us saw that coming."

Mike had a seat and indicated that Steve should join him. Once he obliged, Mike started, "We have two accounts - Milani's and the shooter's. The driver of the car died on impact with the tree."

"Who is the shooter?"

"Grant Williams. No priors, not even a parking ticket."

"Wait, the shooter's name is Williams? Like the victim?"

Mike nodded. "Her brother. So, after we pieced together the accounts, this is what seems happened. We thought we had gotten this anonymous tip about Nick Milani going to the cemetery, right?"

Steve nodded.

"Well, it wasn't so much a tip as a trap. Milani thought he could get Connie's brother - since he was quite angry about his sister's death - to call in an 'anonymous' tip so we'd end up there at the cemetery like sitting ducks. Then Grant Williams was supposed to drive by and shoot you right in front of me."

"Well there was his first problem; you weren't there."

"Lucky me. So Milani had to modify his plan and what he came up with was kidnapping you and driving to the station, using you as a bargaining chip to get me to admit he was innocent and let him off. Problem was, Grant Williams had plans of his own. Milani thought he was mad for the same reason he was - crooked cops. Truth is, he was mad that Milani wasn't rotting in a cell at San Quentin. Like many scholars before him, he decided to two-time Milani."

Steve snorted. "Lemme see if I can finish this. He was aiming at Milani instead of me."

"Yes indeed. May have worked out fine if he'd taken the speed of the car into account...and his own lack of aim."

Sitting back in the chair, Steve crossed his right leg and set it on his left, leaned over on the armrest, and rubbed his forehead with his right hand like he had a headache. "So instead of hitting anyone's target, he hits a perfectly innocent woman, putting her through surgery and pain."

He slammed his left fist down on the armrest with such force that Mike jumped. "If he would have just let her go…"

"Miss Johnson?"

Steve looked at his partner out of the corner of his eye, finding the sound of Miss Johnson instead of Amy strange-sounding. "Yeah, Miss Johnson."

"How 'bout you tell me what happened at the cemetery. Looks like you need to get something off your chest."

Sighing, he sat back and closed his eyes. He felt guilty and didn't want to look at the lieutenant. "There was a funeral right by our stakeout. She was there for that. I, uh, didn't really have time to get her out of there before Milani made me, and he ended up taking her hostage. He said he'd let her go if all the other guys left, but instead he used her as insurance that I'd take him to you."

Opening his eyes and turning to his partner, he said, "She never should have been there, Mike. This wasn't her fight."

"Murphy told me that you told her to go inside the building, but she didn't listen."

Steve flew out of his chair. "Don't you dare blame her for this! She's the victim here." He wandered away from Mike.

Realizing that the young inspector was not going to get over this situation easily, Mike simply said, "You're right. Wrong place at the wrong time. Good thing you were there for her. Did she calm down any on the ride over here?"

Standing in the corner, Steve muttered, "Not really, but then why should I calm her? I'm the one who got her shot."

Mike stood up and slowly approached his protégé. "The only one who got her shot was the man who pulled the trigger."

"She must hate me," Steve said, looking down at the floor.

_Yep, if she's not already his girlfriend, he sure would like her to be. I wonder what makes this one so special?_ "If she hated you, she wouldn't want you to ride with her to the hospital."

At that moment, Dr. Houston, a surgeon whom Mike had been acquainted with a few times, popped his head in the room. "You guys here with Amy Johnson?" he asked while shaking Mike's hand.

"Doc, my partner here is pretty worried about her, but no one will tell him anything. How's she doing?"

"Fine…"

Steve growled under his breath and clenched his fists.

"She's resting in a room right now. We have her lightly sedated, but she should come out of that in an hour or so. We gave her some blood, removed the bullet, sewed her up. It didn't go in very far. She was very lucky. It'll hurt for a few days, but no permanent damage."

Steve's mood changed drastically. "Really? That's great! Can I see her?"

Dr. Houston shook his head. "Give her an hour or so. She had a pretty good bump to her head, so you may want to go easy on the questions. The doctors upstairs will want to check her memory."

Smiling, Steve laughed to himself at the assumption that he only wanted to see her to question her. Mike shook the doctor's hand one more time before the man excused himself.

Turning to Steve, Mike said, "Well, Buddy Boy, since you have an hour to kill, why don't we grab something to eat?"

Steve nodded and agreed, thankful that his partner was allowing him to stay...and not asking questions. On the way out, another thought crossed his mind. "What was Milani gonna do with that Mace?"

Mike chuckled. "Blind us all so we wouldn't see the blitz attack."

Steve stopped walking. "He...him against all of us...with one little bottle?"

The two shared a laugh as they walked toward the cafeteria.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Wednesday, April 17, 1974**_

Amy closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but noise in the hallway distracted her. Close eyes, noise, open eyes. Close eyes, noise, open eyes. This pattern went on for several minutes until a nurse came in, checked Amy's vital signs, and left, closing the door behind her. This cut down on the noise considerably. Amy tried closing her eyes again. She'd been told to try and get some rest, but every time she closed her eyes, she'd start replaying the incident and she'd start throwing herself into a panic attack. Then she had to open her eyes and breath in an attempt to calm down. She didn't want to tell the nurse about how she felt when she tried to sleep because she didn't want more drugs on top of the painkillers that were not working. She wasn't on a very high dose and the pain left over was more than a simple annoyance. What she really wanted to do was go home and hide from the world...or more specifically, from Steve.

She figured now that, after he'd had time to process the events, he would be very upset with her. He told her to go inside; she didn't listen. He told her again; she still didn't listen. Then she got shot. Sure, she was trying to save him in the process, but did he even realize that? Did he care? Regardless of how he reacted after she had been shot, all Amy knew was that she messed up, and he had to hate her. _I finally meet a cute guy who seems genuinely nice, and I totally blow it. I deserve this pain._

This made her cry, which in turn made her head hurt more, so she closed her eyes and prayed that she would just somehow disappear. A few minutes later, the door opened and Steve peeked in his head. Amy, upon hearing the noise, turned her head toward the door. Much to her surprise, he was smiling.

"I'm awake," she said. "Come on in."

He walked over to her bed with a vase of flowers in his hand. "Thought maybe the room could use some cheering up," he told her as he set the flowers on the table next to her bed. Seeing her red eyes, he added, "Looks like you could use some cheering up as well."

"Thanks. They're very pretty. You didn't have to do that though."

"Nonsense. How are you feeling? You look better than you did last time I saw you."

She let out a short, disbelieving chuckle. "Eh. I guess I should say okay because I'm alive, but this is the worst pain I've ever had."

"I bet. What did the doctor say? They wouldn't tell me anything because I'm not family," Steve said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Looking at him questioningly, she asked, "Have you been here the whole time? You came with me on the ambulance, right?"

He smiled and nodded. "I didn't want you to feel alone. I know you didn't know I was here, but…"

"Thanks. I really do appreciate it, even if I don't deserve it." Tears started running down her cheeks, so she quickly changed the subject. "The x-rays looked okay. No concussion from when I hit my head on the pavement and the bullet missed all major organs, so they removed it and stitched up the wound. Now they're just keeping me here to make sure I don't have any adverse reactions."

Steve took her hand, just like he had at the station. "That's great! You had me very worried there for a while. But why don't you think you deserve to have someone stay here with you?"

Amy wondered why he was being so nice after what she'd done, but at the same time she liked it; no one had really shown her this much attention in a long time. She squeezed his hand but then wondered why she was even holding hands with a guy she'd just met. Didn't stop her from doing so, however; it was too nice.

"Because after what I did...I messed everything up." She quickly closed her eyes in the hopes that the tears would stay put. They didn't.

Grabbing a nearby tissue, Steve took it and gently wiped the tears from her face. "Messed everything up? What did you mess up?"

"I...I misinterpreted the whole thing apparently. But I thought he was going to shoot you."

"You thought Milani was going to shoot me? What made you think that?"

Taking a deep breath, she explained remembering the newspaper article and how she worked out that perhaps Milani would shoot Steve in front of Mike to get back at the lieutenant.

"You actually remember that? That was well over a year ago."

"I...I guess my mind hung onto it for some reason."

Steve smiled. "I'm glad it did. It saved all of us a lot of pain and losing the guy again. Although with what actually happened...being maced would have probably been better. I'd have rather suffered through several minutes of pain than have you get shot."

She looked at him, confused about what he'd said, but changed her thoughts when she saw how distraught he genuinely seemed that she had been hurt. Squeezing his hand, she said, "I'll be fine. I...it's payback anyway. I should have seen it coming."

"How is you getting shot payback…"

"What about being maced?" she interrupted. "What did actually happen? I remember most of it, but who shot me? Did he shoot me?"

Steve sat still for a moment trying to decide whether or not to change the subject back. Deciding he'd try later, he answered, "No. He actually had a can of Mace in his pocket. You thought it was a gun?"

"Or knife. Mace?"

"Mmm hmm. His plan was to spray us all in the face so that the guy in the car that drove by could shoot all of us and he'd get away again."

"I know my head hurts pretty bad, but that doesn't make any sense. How was he going to mace that many men at once?"

Chuckling, Steve said, "Yeah, that's what Mike thought too. No one ever accused Nick Milani of being a genius. Anyway, the guys in the car. Did you even see the car?"

She shook her head. "Did the car shoot me?"

"Yeah, the guy in the back seat did. He's actually Connie Williams' brother. Being the Rhodes Scholar Milani is, he hired this brother to drive by and shoot me. But the brother double crossed Milani and was aiming for him instead."

"And hit me?"

"Yep. Terrible shooter. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Which was my fault. You told me to go inside, but I just couldn't...I couldn't let someone else die on me. I don't know why I figured hanging around would do any good. It's merely being in my presence that kills people, but I...never mind. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you and ruined everything. I'm sure you hate me now."

Placing both hands around hers, he looked in her blue eyes and told her, "You did nothing wrong. Okay, so you probably wouldn't have gotten shot if you'd have been in the building, but really, you shouldn't have been there in the first place, which is my fault. And you were trying to help me. None of us saw the Mace in his pocket. If his plan had worked like he thought, you would have saved us a lot of trouble. Neither of us saw the whole drive-by shooting happening. And no...I don't hate you at all."

She looked at him wide-eyed. "You don't? I bet your partner does."

Steve shook his head.

"Oh." She attempted a smile and swiftly turned into a wince as a pain shot through her side.

"Can I get you anything? Water, nurse...trip for two to a beach on Bermuda?" He smirked.

Wiping away a pained tear, she said, "I could go for that vacation, but I'll settle for the water."

Noticing the pitcher of cold water on the same table with his flower bouquet, Steve grabbed a nearby glass, filled it, and handed it to his new friend. She smiled, took ahold of it, and slowly sipped the liquid.

"My throat is so dry. I suppose it's from being on oxygen during the surgery. I can't believe this day. I figured I'd just be miserable because of the funeral, but then I end up providing the next payment for some surgeon's Porsche."

Steve laughed at the Porsche comment to himself and said lightheartedly, "You got to meet me. I suppose that could be the worst thing though."

Setting the water glass down, she held out her hand for Steve to take. "Hardly. I wouldn't have made it through that...ordeal...without you."

"You wouldn't have been in that ordeal without me," he said self-deprecatingly.

"You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to. I do appreciate it; I hate hospitals. Do you have to go right away? I don't...I don't want to be alone again."

He turned around and grabbed a chair. "I probably should go back to work, but make them come and drag me back there. You wanna watch TV?"

She shrugged and nodded. Steve grabbed the remote and turned on the set, changing the channels until he landed on the beginning of an episode of _Match Game '74_.

"This oughta make you laugh for a little while," he told her, after which he scooted the chair closer to her bed.

"Yeah, this is good. Thanks." Again she reached out for his hand which he gladly took.

For the next half hour, they held hands and laughed at the ridiculous questions and thinly-veiled double entendres. Even though he had just met and knew next to nothing about her, he felt extremely comfortable with Amy. Just the touch of her hand was soothing - more soothing than any girl he had dated lately. He had a feeling she was about as broken as a shattered vase inside, but he had always enjoyed the challenge of a good puzzle.

When the show was over, Steve reluctantly stood up.

"You have to leave?" she asked sadly.

"Yeah, I probably should. But I'll come back if you want. Someone's gonna have to ask you about the kidnapping anyway, so maybe I could make it me."

"I'd like that," she said shyly, the happy expression on her face fading.

Before he made his way to the door, he decided to ask the question that had been bugging him all through the show. "What did you mean when you said that you getting shot was payback? You don't think you somehow deserved that, do you? And why did you say being in your presence kills people?"

She brought the blanket up closer to her face. "You remember everything I say?"

He shrugged. "It's the detective in me. This have anything to do with the funeral you were at?"

"Sort of. The funeral was for my boss, Carl. He died suddenly a few days ago."

"I saw that woman approach you and accuse you of killing him. She doesn't actually think that, does she?"

"Carl's wife. Yes, she does. I was the last person who saw him alive, and he died so suddenly. He wasn't sick before that at all."

"What did he die of?" Steve asked.

"They said heart attack."

"Well then she has no ground to stand on. Heart attacks come out of nowhere. You didn't give him one."

Amy shrugged and turned her head away from Steve.

"You don't believe you gave someone a heart attack?" Steve asked.

She turned back to him and let her emotions go. "Do you know how many people around me have died lately? So many people. At first it was just a bad year, but none of the people were old or sick. They all died unexpectedly. I came to realize that I must be an angel of death or something. People around me just die. You were almost one of them."

Steve just stared at Amy. "That's ridiculous. No one causes people to die unless they physically kill them. Did you shoot any of these people? Stab them? Poison them?"

"Of course not," she snapped.

"Then why do you think you're a killer?"

"It can't be just a coincidence!"

"Sure it can."

"If you were investigating this, you wouldn't think it was just a coincidence. I've seen enough cop shows on TV; it's never a coincidence."

Steve chuckled. "You know that's just TV right? Although, you kind of sound like Mike. Maybe a lot of times it isn't a coincidence, but then there is evidence. I bet I wouldn't find a bit of evidence to pin a murder on you."

She turned her head again. She was on the verge of crying and didn't want him to see...again.

"Who has died?" Steve asked quietly after awhile.

Sniffing, she turned her head back to him. Tears were running down her cheeks. "The first was my dad."

"Your dad? You didn't kill your dad."

"How do you know? I might have. You don't know me."

Steve began wandering around the room. "Okay, you're right. I don't know you. But you know what I do know? My job. I have interrogated many murderers in my career, so I like to think I have a decent idea of how they act when they kill someone in cold blood. One thing I've noticed is that a lot of them don't cry. They're not sorry the deceased is gone. If they do cry, they're faking it, and it's pretty noticeable." He walked over to Amy's bed and looked her in the face. "These tears," he said, pointing to the tears she had rolling down her cheeks, "are real. The tears I saw at the cemetery were real. You, pretty lady, are no killer." He grabbed a tissue and handed it to her.

She took the tissue and tried to quietly blow her nose. Even in pain and depressed, she was mindful of being ladylike in front of a handsome man.

"What happened to him?" Steve asked, sitting back down on the bed next to Amy.

Looking up at the ceiling, she closed her eyes and winced. She was experiencing a pain from her gunshot wound, but Steve's question opened an even bigger wound. "I don't really know," she said after working through the pain and fighting off the tears. "He started complaining of having a headache one day and the next day he was gone."

"Did they do an autopsy?"

Nodding, she answered, "The doctor said he'd hit his head at some time in the last day or so and tore a vein somewhere. The vein bled out into Dad's brain. I think the doctor called it a subdural hematoma. Mom and I have no idea how it happened and obviously we couldn't ask."

Steve nodded. "Did anyone else die between your dad and Carl?"

She wiped several tears out of her eyes. "There was Darren. He was a friend of mine from school. He was in a car accident. Then there was a girl I went to school with who lived downstairs from my roommate and me when we were at Berkeley. We did not like each other; she was actually kind of a bully toward me. She OD'd. Then there was Shawn. He was this guy my roommate set me up with. We went out twice, and then he turned into a complete jerk. He ended up dying from food poisoning. Who dies from food poisoning?"

"It happens. He must have eaten something very expired." Steve cringed.

"I guess. Oh, I forgot Shannon. She and I were up for the same internship and she got it. Three days later she ends up falling down a flight of stairs after a party and breaking her neck. You see? I had contact with all these people and they all died in these weird accidents." Another twinge of pain hit Amy, this time in her head. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

Steve took Amy's hand again. She squeezed it hard enough that Steve winced in pain. "Are you okay? Should I get a nurse?" he asked.

Shaking her head, she said, "No. I'm just a baby when it comes to pain. I'll be fine." Her tears said otherwise.

Ignoring her insistence, Steve pushed the call button for the nurse. "Did all these so-called accidents happen in San Francisco?"

She shook her head again. "Dad died in LA. Everyone else was up here though. Why?"

"Just curious. Call me suspicious, but they don't all sound like a bunch of accidents."

"I'm a jinx and these people paid for it with their lives."

At that moment, a nurse came in and Steve told her how much pain Amy was in. The nurse started to give her a dose of morphine and Amy tried to tell the woman she didn't want it, but the nurse disagreed. After the nurse left, Steve could tell some of the pain had already subsided.

"Get some sleep, okay?" he told her. "I'm gonna go do some investigating of my own. I'll be back to check up on you."

Amy, groggy and not thinking clearly, simply said, "What?"

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Go to sleep." He walked toward the door, turned back to say goodbye to her, and found she'd already closed her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Wednesday, April 17, 1974**_

Steve walked into the squad room and sat down at his desk. He'd decided to look into all these deaths he'd just heard about, but he had no idea where to start. He couldn't investigate them officially unless they were open murder cases, and even then they wouldn't be his cases. There wouldn't be time to do any side investigations if he and Mike caught another official case. He wanted so badly to figure this whole mess out, but didn't know how.

"Hey, Keller," Inspector Grabowski said as he walked in the room. "I hear one of my suspects is also your victim."

Keller turned around to look at the man. "What are you talking about?"

"Amy Johnson. She's the lady who got shot today, right?"

Steve nodded.

"Well, she's the subject of one of my cases," Grabowski informed him.

"Are you kidding me? There's an open murder investigation on her?" Steve asked, more than slightly outraged.

"I wish I were kidding. Carl Duncan, professor at Berkeley, dies from a heart attack and the last person to see him alive is his student and part-time nanny, Amy Johnson. His wife Janice immediately assumes murder for no good reason, despite the results of the autopsy. She screams so loud that an official investigation is open. This woman is driving me insane. She calls every damn day asking why Amy hasn't been arrested yet."

"Let me guess, no evidence?" Steve said.

Grabowski walked over to his desk and grabbed a folder. He walked back to Steve and handed it to him. "Not a shred. Frankly, the case is hardly even a priority. I have two others that are actual cases."

Steve started looking through the folder as Mike walked in. Turning around, he saw his partner and said, "Mike, this needs to be our case."

Mike walked into his office and took off his hat and overcoat. "What case is that?"

Steve walked in his office and closed the door before handing Mike the folder. "Right now it's Grabowski's case, but he doesn't have the time to do anything with it. I know she's innocent, so you and I should be investigating this. Something is going on in this girl's life and I have to find out what."

Mike put on his glasses and started looking through the papers.

"All these people in her life are dying, yet they are all supposedly accidents. Accidents my ass."

"Is this the girl...what was her name...Ann?"

"Amy. Mike, she's not a killer. She's being set up or...I don't even know, but I need to find out what is going on. We don't have any other active investigations right now, so I don't see why we can't take this one."

Mike smiled. "You were going to do a little investigating on the side anyway, right?"

"You know too much."

"I'll talk to Olsen, see what he says. In the meantime, you've piqued my curiosity. What exactly do you know about all this that leads you to think it's a frame job or something?"

"While at the cemetery, she was attending the funeral of the deceased, Carl Duncan."

Mike looked again at the folder. "Autopsy says heart attack," he said.

"Uh huh. Amy was there and, okay, I was watching her because she was standing all alone in the back," he admitted, throwing in, "close to Milani's mother's grave." He hoped that would make it seem less like he was girl watching instead of doing his job.

Mike chuckled to himself. He knew that Amy's proximity to the grave probably had little to do with why Steve watched her, but he didn't want to rib his partner too badly. "Go on," he told Steve.

"After the funeral, Milani still hadn't shown up yet, so I was looking around the crowd to make sure he hadn't tried to blend in with them. This woman, who I now know is Janice Duncan, the deceased's wife, comes up to Amy and starts ripping into her for showing up at the funeral. Accuses her right there of killing her husband and swears she'll have her arrested. When I saw her in the hospital, she told me that Carl died because she's a jinx and causes people around her to die off unexpectedly."

"There are others?" Mike asked.

"All ruled accidents, I assume. I haven't looked into any of them, but Amy says they died of car accidents, food poisoning, falls down stairs...her own father died from a blow to the head no one knew about. It's more than just someone with horrible luck, I just know it."

Mike set the folder down. "That stubborn persistence is what makes you a good cop, you know."

Steve chuckled. "Takes one to know one."

"Tell you what. Take the rest of the day off. I'll talk to Rudy and see if he'll let us take on the case."

Steve stood up. "You don't have to tell me twice. I will see you in the morning." He walked out of the lieutenant's office.

Mike picked the folder back up and began reading the information more closely. The more he read, the more he wondered just how deep this investigation was going to go, especially if there really were other bodies connected to it. He swallowed hard, the thought of having a serial killer on the loose crossing his mind. He grabbed the phone receiver and immediately called Captain Olsen.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thursday, April 18, 1974**_

Amy lay in bed staring at the TV. An early-season Giants game was on, but she wasn't paying a bit of attention to it; she was just too lazy to change the channel. She was still in pain, but the medication was doing a better job of masking it. There was also talk of her being able to go home the next day, so her spirits were better than they had been the previous day. Her stay in the hospital had only been a little over twenty-four hours, but she was anxious to get away from the sadness and despair that was hospital atmosphere. Every hospital she had ever been in had this same feeling and it was working on Amy's nerves. All she wanted was to go home and hide out in her bedroom for a while.

Another thing she found herself wanting was to see Steve Keller walk through the door. She hadn't been awake much of the previous day and was afraid she'd missed him coming back. The nurse assured her the only visitor she'd had was her cousin, Karen. A note Amy found pinned to her hospital gown had let her know her younger cousin would return the next day when Amy was awake so that she did not have to "talk to a corpse." There was no bratty note from anyone else.

Amy wondered what Steve was up to. Was he working on her case? Was there even a case? He seemed to think so, but she still disagreed. She had no doubts that Steve was much more of an expert on murder than she, but how could he even think there were murders committed? Car accidents happen every day. It wasn't the first time a drunken person had lost their balance and fallen. Some people are even careless when it comes to spoiled foods. Amy wondered if after a certain amount of time working in homicide, every slightly-suspicious death was a homicide whether it actually was or not. She kind of wanted to ask.

She also kind of just wanted to see him, regardless of murder. He seemed like a truly nice guy and Amy always had a soft spot for men who were nice to her. She had tried talking herself out of numerous crushes on nice guys over the years because she knew it was beyond foolish to fall for a guy simply because he was nice to her. A lot of people are just nice to everyone, or they are nice because it is part of their job. That was the one Amy kept telling herself this time; it was part of his job to be nice and concerned. She was injured while he was working and maybe he felt bad or guilty about it, so he was being nice to her as a way to say sorry. That's all. Too bad the realistic part of her brain was vastly smaller than the giddy schoolgirl in love part. Amy wished the drugs were not working as well as they were. She could use the painful distraction to get her mind to stop thinking silly thoughts.

She turned her head and found herself looking at the flower bouquet Steve had brought. Grabbing it, she held the vase up to her nose and took in the perfumey fragrance. In the collection were several white, pink and lavender roses. In the middle was a single red rose. _He must have spent a fortune on these_, she thought. _I can't let them die._

There was a knock at her door. Setting the vase back down, she turned and saw it open slowly. Her hopes rose but then quickly fell when she saw it was not who she'd hoped. "Paul?" she asked the visitor.

"Oh good, you're awake. I was hoping you would be."

"What are you doing here?" Amy asked her childhood next door neighbor. "I didn't know you were in San Francisco."

He walked into the room with a rather expansive bouquet of red, lavender, and yellow roses in a glass vase. He looked around the room for a place to put the get well gift. "I got into town a couple days ago." Finally deciding to set them on a table by the window, he added, "You remember that my grandmother lives in Sausalito?"

Amy grunted affirmatively.

"Well she hasn't been feeling well lately since Grandpa died, so I'm up here spending some time with her." Paul rearranged the flowers so that they looked just how he wanted them to look.

"I didn't know your grandfather had died. I'm sorry to hear that."

Paul walked over to Amy's bed. "Imagine how _I_ felt when I heard you'd be shot, and in the middle of a police stakeout no less! You just can't trust the Gestapo to do anything right, can you?"

Amy tried not to look completely annoyed with what Paul had just said, but she doubted she was doing a very good job. Paul had always been that way with authority figures; he saw them as nothing but screw ups and more of a hinderance to society than a help. He always thought the LAPD was the most corrupt organization in the country and Amy had no doubt that he now saw the SFPD in the same light. "It was no one's fault but the guy who shot me. The police did everything they could. I didn't listen to orders and put myself in the middle of something I shouldn't have been in. It's just as much my fault as anyone's."

Paul gave Amy a shaming look. "It is never your fault! Don't say things like that! You were the victim and they did not adequately protect you. You have a lawsuit on your hands here!"

Amy knew she needed to move on from this conversation or she'd end up doing or saying something regrettable. "How did you know anything happened to me anyway?"

Paul sat on the bed in the same place Steve had sat the day before. Amy suddenly felt a great urge to move him off the spot.

"My mother told me."

"How did she find out?"

"Your mother told her."

"Who told her?!"

"I think your idiot cousin told her mother, who then told your mother."

Amy shook her head. Los Angeles was the second most populous city in the United States, but in terms of gossip, it might has well have been a small town of 200 people. "The entire world did not need to find out."

"I'm glad I did! You're going to need someone to help you out, a friend to lean on. Remember when I broke my arm and leg in that car accident when we were 13? You helped me a lot through that, so now it is my turn to repay you."

Amy smiled a very insincere smile. "That's sweet, but you don't need to. Karen will help me if I need anything. Besides, I can still use both arms and legs and the wound was not that deep. It was more of a flesh wound than anything." It was more than a simple scrape, but Amy didn't want to make it sound that way.

"You should still take it easy though. I mean, I heard about everything that has been happening lately. The professor's death, the police investigation, now this. I know how anxious you can get. I want you to know I'll be there for you if you need me. That's what friends are for, right?"

Amy had to admit that he was right about one thing: she was the anxious type. She even had the Valium prescription to prove it. Paul knew this because as her neighbor, classmate, and friend, he'd seen her through several panic attacks and anxious moments. However, she was trying hard to work through the anxiety on her own and at this moment, did not see Paul as an anti-anxiety agent.

"I'll be fine. I'm actually doing well working my mind around it," she told him, trying to dissuade him from wanting to be at her side all day and night. Even though she did consider herself Paul's friend, she could only take him in small doses. He had a tendency to be annoyingly high-strung and confrontational. Social graces were never his forte.

"No nightmares?"

_Thanks. Now I will have some_, Amy thought. She shook her head. "You need to spend more time with your grandmother anyway. She needs you, too."

"You're a very stubborn person, Amy Johnson," he said. "But okay. I can easily split my time between the both of you. Grandma is old and sleeps a lot, so I can be at your side in no time whenever you need me."

Amy found that rather rude toward his grandmother, but she did not want to start an argument. "Okay," was all she said.

Paul started looking around the room. The first thing he saw was not what expected. "What're these?" he asked, looking at the flowers Steve brought.

_Oh crap,_ she thought. "They're flowers, Paul," she answered straightforwardly.

He smirked. "No, Amy, they're roses. Roses are not just flowers." He acted as if regular flowers were a thing of disdain.

"They're not?"

"Absolutely not! No, roses have significance, meaning. They say what you want to but can't."

He began picking through the bouquet, much to Amy's annoyance. She sat up and grabbed the vase. "So what meaning do these have, besides 'Get Well Soon'?"

Paul propped himself up against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "If all you really want to say is get well soon, you do it with blue. Blue is a calming, peaceful color. It's a color that puts you at ease so that you can heal. You want get well flowers? Send hydrangeas, not roses."

As he pushed himself off the wall and wandered over to his own monstrosity, Amy narrowed her eyes and glared at his back.

"Roses. So many colors, so many emotions. You know what each of the colors represents, don't you?"

"Can't say I do, no," Amy replied, hugging Steve's gift.

"White, the color of purity, innocence. I think we can all agree that that's an accurate description of you. Your friend there obviously sees it." He turned around and pointed at the vase of Steve's.

She hugged the vase a hit tighter as she thought, _How the hell would you even know how pure or innocent I am? You, the asshole who tried to take it from me in the first place. Not like I'd tell you anything even if I wasn't a virgin_.

Turning back to his own bouquet, he continued, "Pink - admiration, appreciation, and sympathy."

"There you go, sympathy. And you said roses shouldn't be in get well bouquets. They're in yours." Amy pointed over to Paul's mini garden. "I don't know what hydrangeas look like, but all I see is roses."

"You're right, you do. But I know what I was saying."

He stared at her until she felt so uncomfortable, she wished she could disappear. "So, um...what about lavender?" she asked, desperate to get him to stop gawking at her. "Both these bouquets have lavender roses."

Putting his hands in his pockets, he sauntered over to Amy's bed and sat down, again gently touching Steve's flowers. Afraid he was going to hurt them, she tried moving them out of his reach and off to the side.

"Who sent you these?" he asked instead of providing an explanation about color.

Gulping, she answered, "My aunt and uncle."

"Really?" he asked, surprise in his voice. "Because lavender roses signify that the sender fell in love with the recipient at first sight."

Fear took over her body and mind. The way he had ominously stated that fact made her wonder just how jealous he was over this stupid flower thing.

"I doubt my aunt and uncle knew that. They know I like pastels, so that's what they got. You're making this awfully complicated."

"Maybe. But why would they throw in that single rose, hmm?"

Amy shrugged. "Because it's pretty? Did you really come here just to scrutinize my flowers?"

"But why only a single red rose? Why not as many as the others?"

"Because who cares? They're expensive, and they ran out of money. Look, I'm getting kinda tired, so…"

He ignored the hint. "Single red roses mean I love you."

Reaching her limit of him, she snapped, "All red roses mean love. That's why they're so expensive around Valentine's Day. Family love is love."

"But a single one? No, that's a romantic I love you, plain and simple. You have, uh, a secret admirer?"

"No, I don't have a secret admirer." By now, her words were coming out snotty. "What's it to you anyway?"

Paul gave her a subtle glare. "My my, aren't we testy?"

"I'm tired, and I'm in pain, and you come in here picking apart a damn bunch of flowers that are no different than the ones you brought. Please...I'd just like to rest for a while."

Paul sighed. "You're right. I apologize." Looking around, he saw a paper hospital menu on a table next to Amy's bed and grabbed it. He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote something on the paper, handing it to Amy.

"That's my phone number. Anytime you need _anything_, call me. Sausalito is just across the bridge. I don't care if it's 3am, call me. Even if you just need cheering up. I know you feel bad about things that have happened recently, but they're not your fault. Know that."

Amy gave him another insincere smile. "I know. I'll get away from thinking that some day."

Paul grabbed Amy's hand. "Good. You're too good a person to be so sad all the time. Oh, by the way, I visited your father's grave the other day. I know you'd go often if you were still in LA, but since you're not, I thought I'd do it."

Amy wasn't sure whether she thought this was a nice gesture or an obnoxious one. Sure, Paul was a friend, but her father was not his father, so he had no real reason to visit. Plus, her dad was never a big fan of Paul's anyway. He always thought Paul was a bad influence, though he had no real proof. "Thank you. I'm sure mom keeps it looking nice. She still visits every day I'm sure."

"Oh, I know, but I just thought your presence should be there. I left him some chocolate chip cookies. I remember you telling me once that you and he used to eat cookies and watch movies when you were little."

Now Amy was just getting irritated. Yes, it had been kind of a daddy-daughter tradition with them when she was small, but that was none of Paul's business even if she had told him once upon a time, and if her presence needed to be there, she'd put it there herself. "I'm getting kind of tired," she reminded him in the hopes that he would get the hint to leave.

"Oh, sure, I bet." He leaned over and gave Amy a big hug. She reciprocated, though not as friendly. "When are you getting out of here? I can take you home," Paul told her.

"Not sure. I think in a couple days," she lied, letting go of the hug.

"Well, you let me know and I'll be here to take you home. I have Grandma's car."

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Get some rest, okay. And call me if you need me! I'll see you later." Paul smiled at her and walked out of the room.

Every since they were kids and in the same second grade class, Paul had been overprotective of Amy. Her mom had once suggested it was because she was his one true friend and he felt the need to protect her as thanks. He had never gotten along with a lot of the guys and had also been a bit of a reclusive brainiac, leading him to be quite a loner. Amy always felt kind of sorry for him, as she had never felt overly popular herself. She didn't like seeing people without friends, so she was nice to anyone she thought needed someone. Paul was one of those people. As they got older, she became a bit more social, but Paul became more reclusive, choosing to spend more time on science experiments and reading crime novels. He was bullied often, which Amy fought against. Even then, she felt Paul took the friendship too seriously; she may have been his only friend and his protector, but he was not hers. She had several girlfriends to hang out with and didn't always like the guilt Paul would lay on her for spending time with them and not him. Amy often relented, not wanting to upset him. She had a feeling all that was going to come back now. In the two years she'd been away from Los Angeles, she hoped that Paul would find his own life, but she was pretty sure he hadn't.

For the next hour, she tried to sleep, but he had ruined her concentration. All she could think about was roses. He had brought red, lavender, and yellow roses. Steve brought her white, pink, and lavender ones which, if Paul was to be believed, meant Steve saw her as a pure, innocent woman whom he had admired, appreciated, and fallen in love with at first sight. And that single red rose meant he loved her period. She so wanted it to be true, but the idea came from Paul's head which ruined every good feeling the flowers gave her. So she told herself that Steve didn't know any more about rose colors than she did, and he just picked what he thought she'd like.

Then there was the fact that both bouquets had lavender and red roses. Paul's loving her made her stomach turn so much that she called the nurse and asked for something to quell the butterflies. When the girl came back in, Amy asked her, "Do you know anything about roses and the meanings behind their colors?"

Shaking her head, the nurse said, "No, but someone around here might know. Would you like me to ask?"

Amy hated to have a stranger go to all that trouble, but she was curious if Paul had been telling her the truth or handing her a bunch of lines. "Actually, yeah, could you? I'm kind of curious I guess."

The nurse nodded and walked out of the room.

Two hours later, as dinner was being brought around, the nurse came back with a paper in her hand. "The lady in the gift shop is apparently an expert on these things. She wrote them all down for you," she told Amy, handing her the paper before taking her leave once again.

While trying to stomach some lumpy and lukewarm mashed potatoes, Amy looked over the letter. Everything that Paul had said was true. She looked over at Steve's bouquet and smiled. "Love at first sight, huh?" she whispered to herself. Then she looked over at Paul's, sneered, and noticed the yellow roses. He hadn't told her what those meant, so she looked at the list once again.

"Yellow roses signify joy, friendship, welcome back, and jealousy." Jealousy. The mashed potatoes were not the cause of her sudden loss of appetite. When the nurse came back in later to check her vitals, Amy asked her to give Paul's flowers to anyone in the hospital who had none. She couldn't stand to look at them anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Friday, April 19, 1974**_

Steve came to work the next morning hopeful. He was sure that Captain Olsen would see things his way and agree to let him and Mike take on Amy's case. He didn't really want to think about how things would go if Olsen disagreed. As he walked in the squad room, he found Mike already there and at his desk. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was only 7:30. He wondered what got Mike up and about so early.

"What are you already doing here?" Steve asked, entering the office.

Mike looked up from his reading, which was the file the department had on Amy's case. "Well, Buddy Boy, you must have been good this year because you got your wish. Rudy okayed our taking over the case."

"Really?" Steve said, excited that he was going to get to be the one who got to the truth.

"Mmm hmm, but with one caveat. He thinks we should have some good results by this time next week. I managed to sell him on your theory that there is something else beneath the surface, but he wants evidence sooner rather than later."

Steve clapped his hands together as a sign that he was more than ready to begin. "I've been thinking of where to begin with this."

"It's your case; you take the lead."

"First, we should check to see if they did a tox screen on Carl Duncan. He either really had just a heart attack or something in his system caused it. We should also look into other people in his life, like his…"

"Wife," Mike said, cutting Steve off before he could say the same thing.

"Well now this is just getting ridiculous," Steve said, teasing his elder partner about knowing him too well.

Mike grinned. "I was reading Grabowski's notes on her. She sounds like quite the lady. Tell you what, you check on the tox screen. I am going to see if I can get Janice Duncan's financial records. I want to see if there is something fishy there."

Steve went to the door to leave when Mike stopped him.

"Hold on a second." Mike stood up and walked over to his partner, closing the door. "I want to make sure you are open to whatever happens."

Steve gave Mike a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"I just want you to be aware that we might find out Amy isn't as innocent as you think. I need you to be open to every possibility."

Upset, Steve snapped, "You don't actually think she did something? There is no evidence implicating her in anything!"

Mike put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Calm down. You're right, there isn't anything yet, but you know as well as I do that the more you dig, sometimes you discover things you wish you hadn't. We may never find anything, and I sincerely hope for your sake we don't, but there is a chance we might. I just want you to be prepared."

Steve took a breath and let it out. Despite his protesting, he knew Mike was right. However, he also felt strongly that Mike was wrong. "I'll be fine, but she's innocent." He smiled. "I know she is." He walked out of Mike's office and over to his own desk.

Mike stood at his door, watching his partner pick up the phone to call the coroner's office. He knew his partner was stubborn. He knew his partner would fight to the end to find the truth. He also knew, despite everything Steve might have said, that he would be nothing short of devastated if this girl was found to be guilty. Mike hadn't even met her, but he just knew there was something different and special about this girl, something he hadn't seen with any woman Steve had known in the last couple years. On one hand, it made him glad; his partner deserved some happiness. He always hoped that Steve would find a woman as wonderful as his own wife. However, on the other hand, the whole thing worried him. He was just afraid something was going to happen to hurt Steve. Forcing himself to put the thoughts in the back of his mind and focus on the case at hand, he sat back down at his desk, picking up the phone to start the process of getting Janice Duncan's bank records.

Half an hour later, Steve popped his head into Mike's office. "Nothing on the tox report yet, though they assure me there was one done. Any luck with the financials?"

"They should be coming soon," Mike informed him.

"If you don't mind, I am going over to the hospital to tell Amy what's going on. I didn't get over there yesterday to give her an update."

"I need to meet this girl sometime. I want to know the girl who's got you so passionate about this case."

Steve didn't say anything. He just smirked at Mike and walked out of the squad room. Mike chuckled.

* * *

Amy stood in front of a full-length mirror that was in her hospital room. She had her gown raised on her left side so she could see her wound. At the moment, it was covered with bandages, so it looked fine, but she knew the bandages would come off eventually, and she'd be left with a disgusting scar and constant reminder of how marred she was now. Not that she felt whole before, but this was just further evidence that she was damaged goods.

Every time she thought about the wound, she'd get emotional. Not because it hurt but because it was ugly. She hadn't even seen it, but just imagining how it looked made her anxious and weepy. A nurse had tried to assure her that it wouldn't even look like much; the surgeon who stitched her up was one of the best. The nurse also mentioned that plastic surgery was an option if Amy didn't like the way the wound healed. The words assuaged her fears slightly, but not enough to make the panic go away.

She wasn't even sure why it mattered. It was on her left side just under her ribcage, a place no one saw. She wasn't the type to wear tube tops and she didn't spend her free time in a bikini on the beach, but it would always be there for her to see. If she ever got into a relationship, it would be there for him to see as well. The more she thought of that aspect, the more it bothered her. Tears began welling up in her eyes and since no one was around to witness, she stood in front of the mirror and let the floodgates open. She dropped the gown and put her head in her hands.

Steve chose that moment to arrive at Amy's room. He popped his head in and saw Amy crying at the mirror. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he said, quickly walking over to her and gathering her in his arms. "Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay." He kept repeating that until her hyperventilated breathing calmed to a few spread-out hiccups. He pulled away from the embrace and looked her in the eyes. "What happened? Are you okay?"

At any other time, Amy would have been glad to see Steve, but now it was just embarrassing. She could feel herself starting to cry again, so she quickly turned around and walked over to the bed. She climbed in and flopped down on her side, burying her face in her pillow. Unfortunately, she was on her left side and the pain she felt once she hit the bed was intense. "Owwwww," she shouted into the pillow.

Steve walked over to the bed, sitting on the side. "Come here," he said, taking her arm and sitting her up and off her side. "What is going on?"

Amy just shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just...nothing."

Her long brown hair was stuck to her face so Steve moved it back to where it belonged. "This is not the face of someone with nothing bothering them. Are you in pain?"

Amy shook her head no.

"Did something else happen? Janice hasn't been here, has she?" Steve asked, worried that the woman had once again taken her inexplicable anger out on Amy.

"No, she hasn't been here."

"Good. So what has you so upset?" He got up and grabbed a tissue, handing it to Amy as he sat back down beside her.

"Really, it's nothing." Amy wiped the tears out of her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sometimes I just get...this way. I'll be okay."

"If something is bothering you about what happened, you can talk to me about it, okay? I've been told I can listen on occasion." Steve gave her a jovial smile.

Amy smiled but was soon distracted by the door to her room opening. A doctor came in. "Nice to see you up," the man told Amy. She simply nodded.

"Dr. Warren," he then said, putting his hand out to Steve.

Steve took the doctor's hand and shook it. "Steve Keller."

"Nice to meet you. Your girl is doing very well. I think after I examine her now, we'll start the paperwork to get her released. No sense in sitting around here. I'm sure you'd rather have her home anyway."

Steve grinned at the doctor's assumption that he was Amy's boyfriend or husband. "That is for sure. No offense, but hospitals aren't very homey," he said, playing along. He put his arm around Amy's shoulders.

Amy was still too lost in her own sorrow to even notice what had just happened. "You think I can go home?" Then the part of her brain in charge of overthinking and worrying kicked in. "What if something happens, like the stitches break and the wound reopens, or I get an infection, or I start bleeding all over the place…"

Hopping off the bed, Steve turned to face Amy, putting her head in his hands. "Hey, hey, look at me."

Amy looked him squarely in the eyes.

"None of that is going to happen." He looked up at Dr. Warren. "Can we have a minute?"

"Absolutely. I'll be at the nurses' station when you're ready." He smiled and walked out of the room, making sure the door was closed behind him.

Steve sat back down on the bed next to Amy. "I know we don't know each other very well, but I want you to trust that I am not just telling you things to make you feel better or making up stories. Everything I say is one hundred percent honest."

Amy nodded. "You're the police; I trust you."

Steve chuckled. "Well, thank you, but not all cops should be trusted, you know."

"You never seemed like one of those," she told him.

Steve took Amy's right hand in his left. "I've been through this."

"You've been shot before?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and you know what? I'm fine. Spent a couple days in the hospital, just like you. I was discharged with instructions on how to care for wounds and what to do if something goes awry. Nothing happened though. You don't seem like the type of person who would ignore doctor's orders, so nothing will happen with you either. Trust me. Plus, I'll be hanging around if trouble does arise."

Amy looked at him, unsure what he meant by "he'll be hanging around." She didn't want to argue for fear of discouraging him from ever seeing her again.

Steve hopped off the bed and stuck his head out the door. He locked eyes with Dr. Warren, who came back in the room seconds later. "Are you feeling better about being discharged now?" he asked Amy, walking to her bedside.

She nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes he just has to knock some sense into me," she said, playing along this time.

Dr. Warren patted Steve on the back. "Trust me, I know the feeling. I've had to do it with my own wife. Well, as soon as I check you over, unless there are complications, we'll get you out of here. Sound good?"

Amy nodded. "How long do you think before I can leave? Steve probably needs to get back to work."

"Oh, I'm fine. In fact, I'll stick around and take you home before I go back, if that's okay."

Amy nodded again. "I just don't want you getting in trouble for being here instead of working."

"Technically I am working right now, so we're good."

Amy wasn't sure what he meant. "You are?" she asked him.

"I'll explain later. I better call Mike just so he knows I'll be late." He looked at Dr. Warren. "I'll wait down the hall. When she's ready, come get me."

"Not a problem," the doctor stated.

Steve leaned over and kissed Amy on the forehead. "You'll be fine, and I'm not far away, okay?"

"Okay," Amy whispered, happily caught off guard by the display of affection. She watched as Steve casually walked out of the room and down the hall. She also felt a sudden rush of calm come over her.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Friday, April 19, 1974**_

Steve pulled out of the hospital parking lot and was about to pull onto Potrero Avenue when he realized he didn't actually know where he was going. He turned to Amy. "Where do you live?"

Amy chuckled. "An apartment in the 2200 block of Hyde, just south of Lombard."

"Really? I don't live too far from there," Steve said, pulling out and driving north.

"Where?" Amy asked.

"Union Street just past Montgomery."

Amy looked down at her lap, trying to picture the area. She then looked up and started tracing an invisible map in the air with her right index finger. "Union and Montgomery...Union doesn't go all the way through, does it?" Then she started reciting streets like she was a human road map. "Filbert turns into Kearney...Greenwich splits just east of Hyde...and Lombard…" She started laughing. "I tried driving that once. I guess I'm not a very daring person."

Steve chuckled. "It's really not as hard as it looks. Takes practice."

"Sure, says the professional driver. I think I got lost on Union once. When I first moved here, I went out and started just driving around, getting used to the streets. I knew my way around Berkeley pretty well, but San Francisco was completely foreign. I kept trying to go the wrong way down all the one way streets. I tried to get from my apartment to The Embarcadero and I couldn't. All the streets stopped, including yours. I probably passed your place." She chuckled at the memory.

"Bay goes through, North Point goes through, Beach…"

"Well where were you when I was getting lost?" Amy teased.

"You should have just knocked on my door. I might have been home."

Amy just shook her head. She just bet he would have been home...with a girl most likely. He just seemed the type, another type she typically fell for.

"Where did you move here from?" he asked as he turned left onto 9th Street.

"Los Angeles. Born there, raised there, went to school there...got sick of there. So I applied to go to Berkeley for grad school and moved up here. My mom only let me go because she assumed it would be a temporary move, but it's not. Life up here hasn't been peaches and cream, but I still don't want to go back to LA."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Oh, and what's that?" Amy asked.

"We're both Berkeley grads."

"Really? I guess we do have something in common then." She sat for a second but realized she wasn't fond of the awkward silence. "You ever go to the Cal-Stanford game?" she asked to fill the void.

"A few times, yeah. That was always a wild time."

Amy started digging through her memory again. "The first year I was there, my roommate Rebecca dared me to join her in a skit that we performed right in the middle of campus. It was so mean-spirited, making fun of Stanford and all, but we did get quite a standing ovation." She laughed. "I'd never done anything like that before...or since."

"I would have paid to see that," Steve teased.

"It wouldn't have been worth your money." She turned her head and looked at Steve. "You protested a lot."

"Protested?"

"Yeah, like against the war, people dumping waste in the bay, stuff like that. You seem like someone with a strong opinion and you want people to see things your way. You're also very outgoing and get along with people well." She paused. "Just an observation."

"An accurate observation. I did get myself into quite a few demonstrations and protests. Fight the man, you know."

"Now you are the man. Irony at its finest." Amy leaned back in the seat and let her head fall over the back. "Although for my sake, I'm glad you are."

Steve smiled as he continued on his way to Amy's.

* * *

He pulled in front of the building Amy said was hers and parked the car along the curb. He quickly got out and ran around the front of the car to Amy's side. Amy had already started getting out of the car, but Steve helped her stand up and step onto the sidewalk. He then grabbed the stuff from the back seat and followed Amy into the building.

She walked past the elevators and to the door for the stairs.

"Wouldn't you rather take the elevator?" Steve asked her.

Amy shook her head. "They're too slow. Stairs are faster."

Steve shrugged and followed Amy to the stairwell and up three flights of stairs.

Arriving at her door, number 306, Amy tried opening the door, but it was locked. "I need my keys," she told Steve who was carrying her stuff. He dug through the bag, pulled out her clutch, and handed it to her. She dug through it, found some keys, and attempted to unlock the door. The door unlatched, but then quickly relatched.

"Did your door just lock itself?" Steve asked, bewildered.

Amy unlocked it again and it locked itself again. She started pounding on the door. "Karen, stop locking the door! It's me."

There was no answer from the other side of the door.

"Who's Karen?" Steve asked.

"My cousin. She lives here with me. Dammit, Karen, open the fucking door!"

Steve was surprised to hear such language from a girl he'd painted as a sweet, innocent thing.

Amy tried unlocking the door one more time. This time it stayed unlocked. "Finally," Amy muttered, exasperated. She opened the door and walked into the foyer. To her left was the kitchen where suddenly someone lept out with a kitchen knife in their hand.

Amy and the knife-wielder both screamed but soon Amy realized it was Karen and Karen realized it was Amy.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Amy screamed at her startled younger cousin.

"I thought you were a burglar!"

"With keys?! What burglar has keys?" She turned around to see if Steve was still behind her or if he'd run away thinking they were both lunatics. He was standing in the doorway, simply watching the whole thing unfold. "Can you shoot her or arrest her or something?" Amy asked him.

Karen put the kitchen knife down on the counter and came fully into the foyer. "Shoot me?" she asked, worried both about getting shot and why this stranger could shoot her.

Amy calmed down slightly. "Karen, meet Inspector Steve Keller of the San Francisco Police Department. Steve, this knife-wielding moron is my cousin, Karen."

Amy walked forward and to the left into the living room. Steve, hesitant to come in, shook Karen's hand at the door.

"I'm really sorry. I suppose that didn't look too good to a cop. I'm really not an escapee from an asylum." Karen started walking into the living room and Steve felt safe enough to follow. "I've been up all night studying for this stupid psych exam, and I'm tired and jumpy."

Amy sat down on the couch gingerly. "Couldn't tell at all. I think I pulled something in my side." She put her hand over her wound.

Steve put her bag down on the living room floor and walked over to the couch where she sat. "Are you okay?"

She lifted up her shirt to look at the bandage. It was clean, so she put her shirt back down. "Yeah, I just haven't moved much lately. Guess I'll have to get used to that."

"I thought you were coming home later today. I was waiting for you to call," Karen told Amy.

"They let me go early, and Steve was already there, so he just brought me home." She looked at Steve. "You promise this isn't getting you in trouble?"

"Only if I don't go back with the information I came to get."

"Could anyone else use some coffee? I know I could," Karen announced. Both Amy and Steve agreed, so Karen disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee.

"What information is that?" Amy asked.

"About all the other people who died - the ones you were telling me about the other day."

"Ah. Let me see if I can figure you out. You, and your partner I guess, think it's not just me being some sort of death jinx."

Steve nodded and sat down on the sofa.

"You two are homicide inspectors, right?"

Steve nodded again.

"So…" she paused. "You think all these weird accidents are actually murders?"

"That's what we think."

"Which means there is someone...or someones...out there killing people, who all just happen to be connected to me."

Steve didn't say anything.

"Yet you don't think I did it. You don't have any other link, so how could you _not_ think I had a hand in this?"

"That's what Mike and I are going to find out. We'll dig into all those other so-called accidents and see if there is anything there that points to someone else. I just need to know who they are and what you know about their death."

Amy wasn't fully convinced, but agreed to give Steve the information he sought anyway. She sat back on the couch and got comfortable. "Like I told you, the first one was my dad. His name is Glen, Glen Johnson. The Thousand Oaks Police are the ones who investigated that."

Steve pulled a notebook out of his jacket pocket and began writing down what Amy was telling him.

"They asked my mother and me, after the autopsy, if we knew where or when he'd hit his head, but it was news to both of us. One night I even started looking around the house to see if there was a spot that looked like someone hit their head pretty hard. You know, maybe even some leftover blood. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The cops down there didn't really investigate much; they ruled it an accident almost immediately. We had no reason to think otherwise."

"Where else might he have been in the days prior?" Steve asked.

"His office for sure." She sat for a bit, thinking, then shrugged. "I guess I don't really know. He mostly went to work and came home. He was a workaholic."

"What did he do?"

"Lawyer, a corporate one."

Steve wrote some more in his notebook. "Who was next?"

"Darren...um...Oberlander, yeah that was his name, Darren Oberlander. He was in one of my psych classes my first semester at Berkeley. We became friends because we were both from the LA area. We were also both going for the same degree, so we had a lot in common."

"Did you spend a lot of time together?"

"I suppose. How much time did you ever spend with a platonic female friend in college?" Amy asked him.

Thinking for a second, Steve replied, "I suppose enough to make people think we were something more."

Amy nodded. "Only thing they didn't realize is that he was gay. Anyway, after that first semester, I went home for Christmas and he stayed up here with some relatives who lived in the Sunset District. I came back to school and learned that he'd been killed in a hit and run the day after Christmas."

"Did the investigators ever find the driver?"

"Not that I heard. It was apparently odd though. I heard, through gossip, that he was the only one on the road at two in the morning. He was coming home from some all night diner or deli on Taraval and this car comes off 28th Avenue completely out of nowhere, plowing right into the driver's door."

Steve gave her a puzzled look. This was getting more and more interesting and bizarre with each new person. "December of...?"

"Seventy-one. Next was Brenda," Amy said, with obvious disdain in her voice.

"Brenda?" Steve repeated, trying to emulate the disdain.

"Brenda Mason. It seems that no matter where I ever was, there was always that one person who couldn't stand me, even though I never gave them a reason. At Berkeley, it was Brenda. We all lived in a house that had been converted to apartments. There were four units in our house. My roommate Rebecca and I lived in one of them, and Brenda lived down the hall. Everyone in the place went to Berkeley, though I have no idea how _she_ got in. She was just a junior, while Rebecca and I were in grad school. I swear, she spent all her time drinking and screwing a new guy every night. Here I was, spending thousands of dollars to get a Master's degree; sometimes I needed quiet, but no, she didn't care. She was a trust fund baby blowing through daddy's money, and she didn't care who she bothered. She was only going to school because her parents made her."

"Mason...there is a pretty wealthy family in Berkeley named Mason. I wonder if she's related," Steve said.

"Probably. I never really mentioned to her much that I needed quiet to study and that I didn't appreciate hearing her and her...whoever...at night, but she was always hassling me. Since we lived in a building owned by the university, I filed a complaint against her. I came home and found half the things I owned on the front lawn; she'd thrown them out the window."

"Classy."

"Two nights later, it was surprisingly quiet. It was a relief, but then I started wondering why it was so quiet. I went to her place and found her passed out on the floor. I called the police and they said it looked like an overdose. There was cocaine on her kitchen table."

"When was this?"

Amy thought for a second. "Spring of 72, I think. March, April...I don't really remember." She leaned over to see what Steve was writing. "I'm giving you a novel."

He smiled. "Sure seems that way. I have a feeling I'm going to be busy digging through old files and making phone calls."

"Sorry. I bet you regret being in that cemetery when you were. I wouldn't have gotten stuck with this chick if I'd been somewhere else," she muttered, pretending to be Steve.

He gave her a disgruntled look. "That's crap. Don't ever say it again."

At that moment, Karen came into the room with three cups of coffee. "Is black okay?" she asked Steve.

"That's fine," he said, taking a cup from Karen.

Karen then handed a cup to Amy and sat down on a chair across from the sofa the other two were sitting on. "Word to the wise, Inspector. This one is a constant pity party. Give her a chance and she'll put herself down like no one you've ever seen."

Amy gave Karen a glare that could have killed her.

"What?" Karen asked. "I'm just being honest. You're much too hard on yourself."

"That I'd agree with," Steve said.

Amy set her coffee cup on the end table and stood up. "I think I'll go take a nap," she muttered, trying not to start crying for the tenth time that day.

Standing up, Steve blocked her way. "Hey, don't be that way. I get it; you've been through a lot and your self-esteem is pretty low right now. We'll work on it."

Karen looked at the two of them looking at each other and knew there was something else going on besides a murder investigation. She smiled as she took a drink from her cup.

"We still have some more people, don't we? Sit down," Steve said, turning Amy around and guiding her back to the couch.

She sat down. "Next was the food poisoning guy, Shawn...something."

"Denne," Karen said. "D-E-N-N-E. That guy was an ass."

"He was. I was speaking at a conference on child abuse and he was in the audience. Apparently he became so enamored by me that he started asking around about me. A friend of mine hands me this piece of paper that says he's never done something like this before, but he found me beautiful and interesting and would love to meet me. And for some reason, I bought it."

"Bought that someone could find you beautiful and interesting? I can't imagine someone thinking that," Steve said, giving Amy a sly smirk. Karen bit her tongue but chuckled on the inside.

"No, smart ass. I mean that I actually called the guy. I have no idea why."

"Desperation," Karen said matter-of-factly.

Amy shook her head. Here were the jabs at her again.

"So what happened?" Steve asked quickly, not wanting Amy to get up and try to leave again.

"We went out a couple times. I wasn't really that interested in him and I guess he picked up on it, because after the second date, he started being a total jerk to me. He even called me a skanky prude in public. What the hell does that even mean? It's a total oxymoron."

"He was an oxymoron," Karen said, trying to be funny with a play on words.

"I'm sorry this guy is already dead," Steve said, then shook his head thinking a police officer probably shouldn't say things like that.

"Anyway, a couple weeks later I hear that he died from food poisoning. It was just, odd."

"It could still be murder, though I've never seen a 'death-by-spoiled-food' case in my time. Anyone else?"

"Shannon Whitney, last November. She and I were both up for an internship position at a home for troubled kids. I really wanted the job, and Carl pushed hard to get me in, but in the end they picked Shannon even though she was much less qualified than me. I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me."

"Like so-depressed-she-couldn't-get-out-of-bed bothered her," Karen interjected.

Amy shrugged. "I just couldn't see where I was going to go without that internship. So I'm pessimistic. She was nice about it though. She even invited me to her celebration. Like I wanted to celebrate her getting a job I wanted. The party was at some bar on California Street. She fell down the stairs that went down to the club under the bar. I believe that was ruled an accident due to intoxication. Made sense. It was close to closing time I think. The party started at 8, so she could have been pretty gone by then. Last one was Carl." Amy laid her head on the couch.

Steve finished up his notes and blew out a breath. "I'm going to be busy for sure." He sat looking at the notes for a while.

"What are you thinking?" Amy asked.

"I'm looking for a pattern."

She sat up and looked over Steve's shoulder at his notes. "There is no pattern. None of the accidents were the same, they were all over town."

"Did they know each other? Was there someone who knew all of them?" he inquired.

"Besides me? I have no idea."

"There might be one," Karen said.

Both Amy and Steve looked at her. "Really?" Steve asked.

"I don't know if he knew everyone, but I'm sure he at least knew of them."

"Who are you talking about?" Amy asked.

"Paul Carpenter."

"What? Oh, that's ridiculous," Amy scoffed.

"Who's Paul Carpenter?" Steve asked.

"A guy I've known since we were eight. He used to live next door to my parents and me."

"He's a weirdo," Karen added.

"He's just...unique. A bit high-strung, maybe a bit overly-confrontational at times, but he's not a killer!"

"A high-strung, confrontation weirdo can't turn into a killer?" Karen looked at Steve. "You know what I saw him do once? He sat on the sidewalk in front of his house with a magnifying glass killing ants."

Amy rolled her eyes. "A lot of kids do that! Plus, I doubt it really works. How can you get an ant to stand still long enough to fry them anyway?" She then looked at Steve. "I bet you did things like that as a kid too. Boys do stuff like that."

He didn't have time to say anything before Karen started up again. "Killing innocent creatures is something boys do?"

"Says the girl who steps on spiders when they're outside minding their own business! Besides, Paul lives in L.A. now." Amy didn't dare mention the fact that he was in town now, though she didn't see why it mattered. He hadn't been in town for any of the accidents.

"Finally flunked out for good, huh?" Karen said.

Steve had had enough of the cat fight, so he stood up and put his notes back in his jacket. "This will give us a good start."

Amy and Karen both stood up as well. Amy ran ahead to the front door. "Tell your partner...Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him I'm sorry for keeping you so long. He's probably wondering where you've been."

"There you go again, worry about my job. If I get back to the station and someone else is in my desk, I'll come back and let you know."

"Sure, make me feel bad," Amy said, opening the door.

Steve looked at her. "Never," was all he said.

She smiled shyly and clung to the door.

Turning to Karen, Steve told her, "Thanks for the coffee. If you ever need a part time job, you could come down to the station and make coffee, because the stuff there is…" he trailed off and made a face.

Karen laughed. "Put in a good word for me. I need all the money I can get."

Steve walked out the door but turned back to Amy. "Get some rest. I'll call you later."

"About the case? I don't know what else I can tell you."

"Not necessarily." He smiled and walked down the hall toward the stairs.

"You better call or I'll be on your case!" Karen shouted out into the hallway.

Amy was mortified. "Oh my God!" She quickly turned around and shoved her cousin back in the apartment and quickly slammed the door. Steve laughed as he opened the door to the stairwell.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Friday, April 19, 1974**_

"Well, look who it is!" Mike said, looking up from his paperwork. He got up off his chair and walked out of his office into the squadroom. "What was your name again? It's been so long that I can't remember. Steve, was it?" he teased his partner.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I wasn't gone that long! She was getting released when I got there, so I just took her home."

Mike gave him a curious, yet light-hearted look. "Community relations, right?"

"Yeah. I got names though, several of them."

Mike walked back into this office; Steve followed him. He pulled out the notebook and sat down in the chair in front of Mike's desk. "Six people in all." He handed Mike the list.

Mike sat down, put on his glasses, and looked it over.

"We're going to be doing a lot of calling around," Steve said. "There has to be something linking all these people, but I have no idea what it could be."

"It's early; if it's there, it will surface soon enough."

"Did you get Janice Duncan's bank records?" Steve asked Mike.

"Yeah, and they're very interesting." He handed a stack of papers to Steve. "Carl and Janice had separate accounts, but they each tell a similar tale. There are several large amounts of cash going both in and out, one was right before the day he died."

"I don't suppose we know where all this money came from or went?"

Mike shook his head. "All done in cash."

"What do you suppose is being covered up?" Steve asked suspiciously.

Mike stood back up. "I'm kind of curious to find out. What do you say we pay the grieving widow a visit?"

Steve stood up as well. "I can't wait," he said, completely unconvincing. He'd seen this woman once and that was enough.

* * *

Steve pulled the car up to a gated mansion in Sea Cliff. "Being a college professor must pay better than I thought," Mike said, looking up at the house through the windshield.

Steve pushed a button on the speaker outside the gate and waited. Someone answered and Steve told the person who they were and why they were there. The gate promptly opened and Steve drove in, parking the car in front of the front door.

The pair got out and approached the door. "Keep your cool," Mike told Steve.

Steve looked at his partner. "What do you mean, 'Keep your cool?' I always keep my cool."

"Just...keep your cool." Mike knew if Janice said anything derogatory about Amy, Steve wouldn't handle it well, even if the topic had not come up in the past.

Steve couldn't believe Mike was giving him reminders like a little kid, but the front door opened before he had a chance to further protest.

"Gentlemen, please come inside," an older lady in a maid's uniform said. Both men walked in and stood in the elaborately decorated foyer. "Mrs. Duncan will be with you shortly." The maid excused herself, leaving the men to peruse their surroundings.

"Interesting and rather expensive taste," Mike observed.

"I was thinking of using the word gaudy," Steve replied.

Just then, Janice came down the winding staircase. "My maid tells me you two are with the San Francisco police," she greeted them coldly.

Mike took out his badge and showed her. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller. We wanted to ask you some questions about your husband."

"What happened to that other inspector? Actually, who cares. He never listened anyway. I tried telling him our nanny was responsible, but he simply would not listen."

Mike shot Steve a quick glance, saying '"I told you" with his eyes. Steve kicked at the ground with the tip of his shoe.

"What would you like to know? I already told that other idiot everything."

Now Mike was getting irritated with this woman, and he'd only been talking to her for thirty seconds. "Well, why don't you tell me anyway?"

Janice led the two into another room where they all sat down. "That night. I'll never forget it as long as I live. I came home at probably 10, maybe 11. I hear yelling coming from Carl's office. I run in there and find Amy giving my husband CPR. I yell at her to get away from him, but she won't move. She says she found him passed out in his chair and she couldn't revive him. I pushed her out of the way and started CPR myself; she was probably doing it all wrong."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"The paramedics came and they could not revive him either. They just...gave up. How could they just give up? It's not like my husband was just some street person; he was an important man!"

Mike and Steve gave each other a look of disdain for this shallow, heartless woman.

"So you came home and found your nanny, Amy Johnson, giving your husband CPR. What made you think she caused his death?" Mike asked, seeing no correlation.

"No one else was around! She's the one who found him! He wouldn't just have a heart attack! She had to have done something to cause that. I know for a fact that she was constantly flirting with him, trying to get in his pants. She probably gave him something to kill him, get all our money."

Steve had heard just about enough inane garbage when Jasmine peeked her head around the corner. He noticed her and she noticed him.

Mike, doing his best to ignore accusations that he felt were baseless, pushed Janice further. "And what might she have given him?"

"You know what he was supposedly drinking when I found him? Tea. Hot tea."

Steve stifled a laugh. Mike, expecting something much more sinister than tea, just shook his head. This woman was the worst witness he'd ever had to interview.

"He never drank tea. She must have put something in it and forced it down his throat."

"Daddy drank tea a lot," Jasmine said, getting the courage to see what was going on. She walked into the room.

"Jasmine! I thought I told you to stay in your room! We are having a conversation and you are not a part of it," Janice snapped at her daughter.

Completely ignoring her mother, Jasmine walked over to Steve. "I've seen you before," she told him.

"Oh yeah?" Steve said, even though he too had seen her.

"Do you want to see my doll collection?" she asked.

"Sure," Steve said, grateful for a reason to get out of this horrible interview.

"Jasmine," her mother said in an angry, authoritative tone.

"It's okay," Steve said. "I'll be right back."

Jasmine took Steve's hand and led him out of the room. Mike gave him a look that said, _How dare you leave me alone with this woman_. Steve just shrugged and walked out of the room.

Mike went immediately back to his questioning, hoping he could get this over with sooner rather than later. "Where were you prior to arriving at home and finding your husband?"

Janice glared at Mike. "What does that matter?"

"I always check for alibis."

"Are you accusing me of killing my own husband?"

"Not at all. But if this truly is a murder, I need to know where everyone involved was and what they were doing."

"I was out," Janice said curtly.

"Out? Well, that can certainly mean a lot of things, Mrs. Duncan. Care to tell me just exactly what you were doing 'out'?" Mike asked. He was going to get something out of this woman regardless of what she thought. No one hid things from Mike Stone for too long.

"I was with a friend," was all she said.

Mike just gave her a look.

"I was having dinner with our accountant. I've been considering making some investments, and he was helping me."

_Dinner with an accountant until 10. Interesting_, Mike thought. "Funny that you would bring up your accountant," he said instead. "Have you or your husband come into any money recently, or have you been having money problems?"

Janice laughed. "Look around, Lieutenant! Does it look like we're having money troubles? Why would you even ask such a thing?"

"There have been quite a few large deposits and withdrawals to your bank account recently. Has the money all gone to home decor?"

Janice folded her arms over her chest. "I see what you're doing. Just because I happen to have money, there must be some motivation there to have my husband killed. Well, you certainly won't find any reason for me to kill him. His job kept me living like this." She put her hands up and waved them around the room like she was modeling products. "Without that, where would I be?" she asked smugly. "If you want to know about my money, you'll have to ask my accountant. I have no idea what Carl did with his money if it wasn't spent on me. It probably ended up in Amy's bank account. I'm sure she found a way to squeeze money out of my husband. Since you seem good at looking into people's private affairs, I'm sure it won't be any trouble for you."

Realizing he was not going to get anything valuable out of this woman, Mike went in another direction. "I'd like to see Carl's office, see where he died. Perhaps Inspector Grabowski missed something when he looked around."

"He probably did." Janice waved her hand for Mike to follow her down the hall. On the way, he made sure to note all the expensive paintings and sculptures that adorned the corridor. They reached Carl's office, and Mike found it odd. As elaborately decorated as the rest of the house was, this room was almost bare. No paintings or sculptures, no fancy areas rugs or antique furniture. All the decor was limited to books on shelves and a wooden desk that looked like it had seen better days. There was a ratty recliner in the corner opposite the desk. Mike wondered how a simple man like Carl had put up with someone like Janice, but then he thought, maybe he didn't. He walked further into the room and saw that there was a silver serving tray on the desk, complete with a tea cup and a box of tea bags.

"Did you leave this room exactly like it was the night Carl died?" Mike asked, wondering if this was the same tea service Carl had been drinking.

"I can't bear to clean it up. I can't really even stand being in here now. If you don't mind…" Janice started, but was soon interrupted by Mike.

"Actually, could you walk me through that night? How you found him, what you did, where Amy was."

Janice was visibly annoyed with his request. "Must I?"

"It would certainly help me figure this out a lot quicker. You would like to put this whole thing to rest, wouldn't you?"

Janice sighed and started to run through the entire ordeal again.

* * *

Jasmine held onto Steve's hand all the way up the winding staircase and down a long hallway to her room. When they got to her door, she looked up at Steve and said, "Daddy really did drink a lot of tea. He said it was good for you. I thought it was icky."

Steve smiled. He had a feeling this could turn out to be a very fruitful conversation.

The small blue-eyed blonde led him into her room and told him to sit on the bed. He bent down and sat on her rather large double bed that was adorned with pink and white sheets and a lacy canopy. For a child, she had rather adult-sized furniture that seemed over the top. However, he thought that if he'd ever get married and have a little girl, he'd probably be doing this kind of thing on a daily basis - a fact that he was surprisingly okay with.

Jasmine grabbed a toy chest and dragged it over to where Steve was sitting. "I keep all my important stuff in here," she told him. She opened the chest and instead of pulling out a doll, she pulled out a picture frame. "I remember seeing you at Daddy's funeral," she told him. "You were watching my mom yell at Amy."

"Yeah, I was."

"What's your name?"

"Steve. And your name is Jasmine, right?"

She nodded. "Are you Amy's friend?"

"I am. I know she misses seeing you." The topic had never come up, but after witnessing the display at the cemetery, he assumed she did.

Jasmine sat on the bed next to Steve and showed him the picture. It was a picture of her and Amy standing in front of the fountain in Ghirardelli Square. Both were smiling and obviously happy in the moment. "She used to take me fun places that my mother doesn't. She always says she's too busy to take me anywhere."

"Too busy? Doing what?" Steve asked her, mesmerized by the sight of a smiling Amy.

Jasmine shrugged. "She's always at the country club or kissing Norman."

Steve looked at her, surprised by what she said. "Kissing Norman? Who is Norman?"

"I don't know. He's here a lot. He always has a suit on. One night, I snuck downstairs when I wasn't supposed to because I wanted a piece of cake. I saw lights outside, so I went to the front door and looked out the window next to it. Mother and Norman were standing by his car kissing each other. I thought moms were only supposed to kiss daddies."

"They should," Steve answered, now trying to make sense of what he'd just learned. "Did you ever tell Amy about what you saw?"

"No. I tried a couple times, but she told me it was not nice to spy on people. It's fun though! You get a glass like this," she explained, taking an empty glass off her nightstand and showing it to Steve. "Then you put it up to a door." She ran over to the bedroom door, shut it, and demonstrated. "The open end goes on the door. You can hear what's going on in the other room!"

Steve got off the bed and walked over to where Jasmine was standing. "Really? Maybe I should use that for my job. I bet I could find out a lot of things people don't tell me."

Jasmine smiled and handed Steve the glass. "Try it."

Steve put the glass up to the door and heard nothing but air. "Wow, you can hear things, can't you?" He wasn't about to tell her the truth. "You spy on a lot of people?"

Jasmine nodded. "I'm going to be a spy when I grow up. Can you be a spy for the police?"

Steve had to chuckle. He had had times in his career when he was nothing more than a spy, lying in wait for a criminal to show up and do something illegal, or listening in on a conversation to get the goods on someone. However, that was nothing he'd want to tell a little girl about. "Sometimes we do need spies. But you have to be a little older."

Jasmine frowned then seconds later smiled again. "That will give me time to practice."

"Good idea," Steve told her as he handed her the glass.

"Is Amy helping you solve a mystery? Is she working for the police now?"

Steve didn't exactly know how to approach this one. "In a way, yeah," was all he said.

"That's good. Do you think after she's done she'll be able to be my nanny again?"

Seeing the likelihood of that being slim to none, Steve simply shrugged. "I don't know."

"We used to play princess and queen. She was the queen and I was the princess." The little girl leapt up and ran to her closet. There, she grabbed a pink pointed hat that had pink and white chiffon streamers coming out of the top. She also grabbed a pink fairy wand and a gold crown and ran back to Steve. She promptly put the crown on his head. "You could be the king!" she announced excitedly.

"I'm the king?"

"Come, sit on your royal throne!" Jasmine took his hand and led him over to a small chair in the corner of her room. He sat down but wondered how long this tiny chair would hold up. "Wait, I must get your royal cape!" Jasmine then said in an exalted tone. She ran back to her closet.

Steve laughed to himself and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. He also had a greater appreciation for Amy if she had to do this every day.

* * *

What seemed like hours later, Mike appeared at Jasmine's door and saw his partner having high tea with a princess. By then he was in full king garb, complete with a crown, a robe, and a plastic sword. It took everything Mike had not to laugh out loud.

"I, uh, hate to interrupt your highness' tea, but we should be getting back to the palace," Mike told him, stifling laughs the whole time.

Steve shot him a look.

"Although, perhaps I could call the royal photographer and have him come by to take a few official portraits first."

"You wouldn't dare," Steve said, standing up.

Jasmine also stood up and ran over to Mike. "Doesn't he make an elegant king?"

Mike knelt down to the girl. "The most elegant king I have ever seen. I think he should always wear that to work." He grinned devilishly at his partner.

Steve quickly pulled the crown and other garb off and laid them on Jasmine's bed. "You're just jealous," he told Mike, fixing his crown-hair. He walked to the door.

Jasmine looked up at him. "Steve, can you come play with me again? You're the bestest king ever."

He knelt down to Jasmine. "I don't know, maybe. Thank you for the tea though; it was excellent."

"Just like Amy made for Daddy." She then went to her toy chest and pulled out a stuffed gray rabbit. She brought it over to Steve, who had stood back up. "If you see Amy, will you give her this? He's lonely without her."

Steve took the bunny. "I will. I bet he'll be happy to see her."

Jasmine then gave Steve's legs a big hug. She looked up and him and said, "You and Amy would make a good king and queen." She grinned.

Steve smiled back down at her. "I bet you're right."

The maid came to the door. "Jasmine, it is time for your piano lesson. Do get that hat off and come downstairs." She then looked at Mike and Steve. "May I show you gentlemen out?"

Mike nodded and he and Steve followed the maid down the hall. Steve quickly glanced back and saw Jasmine standing at the doorway watching them leave. She waved and he waved back.

Once outside, Mike ran ahead of Steve to the car. He went to the driver's side and opened the door.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"I can't possibly allow the King of California to open his own car doors. Do I also need to bow? I'm new and not familiar with the customs yet."

Steve simply shook his head. He wasn't going to live this one down for quite awhile. "Do you mean to tell me that if I went through your family photo albums, I wouldn't find some of you playing dress up with Jeannie?"

"Not a one."

"Really?" Steve said, doubtful.

"Nope, because I wouldn't let you see the photo albums."

Steve chuckled and got in the car. Mike closed the driver's door before walking around the front of the car to the passenger's side. Steve set the rabbit right next to him. As Mike got in the car, Steve noticed he was carrying a plastic bag.

"What's that?" he asked, starting the car.

"Carl's office was left just the way it was the night he died, including the box of questionable tea that was sitting on his desk. If there really is anything funny about it, we'll find out."

"Jasmine said her father always drank tea. I don't understand why Janice would lie about that," Steve said, pulling the car through the front gate and onto the street. "Although her affair might have something to do with it. Who knows."

Mike looked at Steve. "Affair?"

"Her daughter claims she saw her mother kissing a man named Norman in the driveway one night. Maybe she wanted to get rid of her husband before, or because, he found out."

"I wonder if their accountant's name is Norman. That would clear up some things. Let's get this tea back to the boys in the lab, find out if it really is just tea. Then maybe we'll track down this Norman fellow, see what he has to say."

Steve drove on toward the station with a gray stuffed rabbit as his co-pilot.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Friday, April 19, 1974**_

Amy laid on the couch, half watching an episode of _The Odd Couple_ on TV. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but every time she would close her eyes, either a pain would wake her up or a memory would. She'd flash back to the station or to the night Carl died. She'd hear Janice yelling at her or the shouts of the paramedics at the scene. It was all unnerving and Amy would have to open her eyes in an attempt to calm herself down. She'd paced the room several times already, trying to get rid of the nervous energy, but it hadn't worked. She thought watching some TV might distract her enough, but that wasn't working so well either. Her next step was popping Valium and forcing herself to sleep, but she hated relying on that. Her goal was always to try and beat the fear on her own, but that was not a tactic that had a 100% success rate; in fact, it was closer to 0%.

So instead of worrying about physical pain or flashbacks, Amy started worrying about whether or not to swallow a pill. Then she got mad at herself for worrying about any of it and punched a pillow. "You're a worthless idiot," she said out loud.

There was a knock at her door. Amy slowly sat up and debated even answering it. She wasn't expecting anyone, so she wasn't sure if opening the door was even a good idea. _I could pretend nobody's home and hope they just go away_, she thought, but then realized that the person could probably see lights coming from under the door, so she reluctantly stood up and walked quietly to the entry. She got on her tiptoes and looked through the peephole where her eye was met with a pleasant surprise.

Quickly unlocking the door, she opened it and said, "I thought you were going to call."

Steve stood leaning against the door frame, one hand behind his back. "I was, but I just had to tell you all about my day in person."

"What happened?" Amy asked, genuinely concerned.

"Well, it started at work just like any other day, but then I ended up spending an hour or so at the hospital. Depressing, maybe, but then I almost got attacked by a crazy woman with a knife."

Amy laughed. "You're safe now; she's at work. And I hid the knives."

"That's a relief! Then this afternoon, I end up having to talk to the world's most…" He paused. "I don't even know how to say it. A truly impossible woman with horrible taste in home decor."

Amy looked back at her apartment. Thinking he was referring to her, she wondered what in her place was so ugly. Sure, it was closer to thrift store chic than anything, but it looked okay.

"You want to know the best part though?"

Amy wasn't sure she did.

"I got to play king for a day and have tea with a princess."

Now Amy was just confused. "Are you drunk?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, I'm being serious. I had a crown and everything. Mike saw it...and ribbed me about it for the rest of the day. Her highness did give me something to give to you though." From behind his back he pulled out the gray bunny and handed it to Amy.

She was shocked. "Mr. Sniffles!" She grabbed the bunny from Steve and gave him a hug.

"Who?" Steve asked, trying not to laugh at the sight of a grown woman getting excited about a stuffed toy.

Waving Steve into the apartment, she asked, "You were at Duncan's House of Horrors?"

"Appropriate name." He closed the door behind him and followed Amy into the living room.

"This is Mr. Sniffles. I gave him to Jasmine a couple months ago when she had this cold that would not seem to go away. It was something to comfort her."

"She certainly had plenty of toys and dolls."

"Bribery in the place of good parenting. Anyway, she named him Mr. Sniffles because he apparently sniffled right along with her. How do you have him?" She then got a look of shock on her face. "Wait a minute. You said you were a king and had tea with a princess. You played royal tea party with Jasmine? Oh, now _that_ I would have paid to see. It would have been worth every penny, too."

"It has an official name, huh?" He sat down on the couch and Amy sat down next to him. "Well, it is about time someone realized how important I am."

Amy smiled. "Sure. Why were over there?"

"Mike and I went to talk to Janice about the night Carl died. Jasmine probably saved me from punching that woman in the face."

"Was she still going on about how I killed him?"

"Same song and dance. I couldn't listen to it any longer, so when Jasmine asked if I wanted to see her doll collection, I took her up on the invitation. She did give me some interesting insight though."

"Jasmine did? She's six; how much could she know?"

"Oh, but she wants to be a spy when she grows up. She already has her glass for listening at doors and walls."

Amy rolled her eyes. "That girl, always trying to spy on people. I guess I really didn't mind, but I was afraid her mother would find out and ground her for life. Are you telling me she overheard something pertinent to the case?"

"She did."

"And she told you?"

Steve nodded.

Amy looked at him curiously. "Have you ever played telephone?"

"Does calling girls on the telephone count?" Steve asked slyly.

"Hardly. No, it's when you get a bunch of people either in a circle or in a row. One person starts by whispering something into the person next to them's ear, then that person whispers what they heard into the next person's ear, and so on around the circle or down the line. That last person then says what they heard out loud. Nine times out of ten, it's not even close to what the first person said. Like, the first person said, 'My dog has fleas.' The last person will say something like, 'There's a monkey in the refrigerator.' Not even close. That's what getting secrets Jasmine overheard is like. She hears something, but it comes out her mouth something else."

"What do you know about their accountant?" Steve asked. A call to a number Janice had given Mike told the pair that the mysterious Norman and the accountant were the same person.

"Norman? Isn't that a good accountant name, Norman?" Amy chuckled. "Not much. He did seem to hang around the house an awful lot after regular business hours, but then maybe that's something accountants do. I tried not to get involved in anything that didn't relate to me. Why?"

"That name came up in my talk with Jasmine."

"Norman? Don't tell me she heard him plotting Carl's murder or something."

"No. Did she ever tell you the things she overheard?"

"Oh, she tried, all the time, but I didn't want to hear it. At the beginning I listened, and frankly, most of it sounded made up. Eventually I told her she shouldn't be telling secrets or listening to conversations that didn't involve her. She kept trying until I told her that good spies write down what they hear so they don't forget it. She ended up writing everything down in a journal."

"Really? Everything she heard in that house?"

"Mmm hmm. What are you getting at?" Amy asked.

"That maybe she heard something at one time or another that might point to murder."

Amy looked at Steve almost like she pitied him. "You do know she's six, right? She's a smart girl, but six year olds aren't the most proficient writers. And like I said before, most of it is probably either misheard or plain made up. Seems like a stretch."

"Wouldn't you rather I stretch than not look into every angle I can? Would you rather I just arrest you?"

Amy looked down at her lap. "You're right; I'm sorry." She started playing with Mr. Sniffles' ears.

"How can we get the journal without going back to the house?" Steve asked. "I'd prefer never to go back there again, although I do have a standing invitation to tea with the princess any time."

Amy looked back up at Steve and smiled. "Lord Keller of the Kingdom of San Francisco."

"Oh, now Mike said I was the king of all of California. You gave me a demotion."

"Ohhh, sorry, M'Lord. I shall know better next time, if there is a next time."

Steve put his hand on her shoulder. "There better be."

The two looked at each other without saying a word for what seemed like an eternity, until Steve finally cleared his throat and asked, "Is there another way we could get ahold of that journal? Is she ever anywhere in town without her mother?"

"She's never with her mother. Why else would a woman who has no job need someone to watch her child?"

"She did tell me Janice is always at the country club."

"Rubbing elbows with all the blue bloods, each one trying to top the other with how wealthy and important they are. It's disgusting."

"Okay, so where could we find Jasmine during the day?" Steve asked.

"We? Well, _you_ could find her at school. She has dance on Mondays and Wednesdays. Brownies is every Tuesday."

"Why just me?"

"Because Janice has a restraining order against me, that's why. I can't get within like, a hundred feet of Jasmine or you'll have to arrest me. She took it out the same day as the funeral."

Steve shook his head. "That woman really is delusional, isn't she? I mean, you being a threat is ridiculous."

Amy shrugged. "Thanks for thinking so, I guess, but it doesn't invalidate the order. She'll talk to you though, especially now that she has a king to drink tea with." Smiling at Steve, she changed the subject. "I didn't offer you anything, coffee, something to eat...do you want anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I didn't come here so you could feed me."

Amy stood up. "I know, but good hostesses always offer their guests refreshments. Besides, I'm thirsty."

Steve stood up and offered to help her. He followed her into the kitchen where she got a glass out of the cabinet. She then got into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Dr. Pepper.

Steve grabbed the bottle from her. "Do you have a bottle opener?

She nodded and opened a small drawer under the counter. "Thanks. You've obviously seen me try to get those things off."

"You ever get one off without bending it?" Steve asked her.

"That's impossible."

"Prepare to be impressed." He got into his pants pocket and pulled out a quarter. He set the quarter on top of the cap. He then put the triangular-shaped opener around the cap, with one part on the quarter and two parts underneath the cap. He then slowly pulled up on the opener, the cap came off and, along with the quarter, fell to the counter.

Amy watched in awe. She picked the cap up off the counter and looked it over. There was not a single dent on it. "I didn't think this was possible. Is this the kind of stuff they teach you in the police academy?"

Steve laughed. "No, regular college. And I practiced with more beer bottles than anything."

"Figures." Amy took the bottle and poured half into the glass. She handed the rest of the bottle to Steve. "Drink it."

"Thanks." He stood at the counter and took a drink. He then leaned over the counter and looked at Amy. "I almost hate to ask you this, but would you run through that night?"

"The night Carl died?" Amy asked softly.

Nodding, he said, "I know it's probably hard, but…"

"No, it's fine," Amy interrupted. "You're only asking to solve the case." She took a drink then began running through the scene. "I had to take Jasmine to dance that night. Dance class ends at eight, but she wanted ice cream, and I had promised her some for practicing hard at the piano. We got home about nine. I walked by Carl's office and saw he was on the phone, so I didn't bother to tell him we were there. It looked like a pretty intense conversation too."

"Was that a normal thing?" Steve asked.

"Depended. He had a hand in a youth shelter and things would go wrong there occasionally. I had seen him getting stern with people over the phone. This was different though. This conversation was very quiet, like he only wanted the person on the other end to hear." Amy paused, thinking about it for a second, then went on. "Anyway, I took Jasmine upstairs, started a bath for her, picked up her bedroom while she was bathing so that her mom wouldn't come home and wake her up to yell at her to clean her room…" She stopped her story when she saw the look Steve was giving her. "Yes, she'd done that before."

Steve just shook his head and took another drink. He kind of hoped it was something stronger than soda; he'd need it to listen to anything more about Janice Duncan.

"Jasmine got out of the bathroom, and I put her to bed. I had to read her a couple stories before she'd even close her eyes. Lights out was around ten. I remember because I was glad Janice wasn't home yet; she'd have gone ballistic knowing Jasmine had stayed up so late on a school night. I went downstairs and checked in on Carl again. He was off the phone, so I popped my head in and told him that the evening had been fine. Then we talked about a possible job he had that he thought I would be good for. I noticed he looked very tired, and he kept rubbing his temples. I asked if he felt okay, and he said he felt kind of queasy. I asked him if I could get him anything, and he told me a cup of tea. So I went to the kitchen, boiled some water, and brought him the kettle and a box of tea bags."

"_He_ is the one who asked for the tea?" Steve asked, making sure to clarify that point.

Amy nodded. "I was honestly thinking more antacids or aspirin or something. I even brought him the whole box of tea so he could just make the cup himself. I don't like making tea for other people since it can vary so much in strength."

Steve took another drink out of the Dr. Pepper bottle, his eyes narrowed like he was intently thinking of something.

"Why do you ask?" Amy asked.

He set the bottle back down on the counter. "Oh, nothing. I'm just trying to put the puzzle together. I seem to have a lot of pieces with no place. Keep going. What happened after you brought him the tea?"

"I was going to leave for the night, but as I walked out of Carl's office, I heard Jasmine call out, so I ran upstairs to check on her. She wanted a glass of water. I got that, but then it was another half hour before I could get her to settle back down."

"So it's now about what, quarter 'til, 11?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah. The clock on Jasmine's nightstand said 10:50-something when I turned the lights off. I went back downstairs to tell Carl again I was leaving and that's when I found him slumped over in his chair. I thought maybe he'd fallen asleep, but the more I looked at him, the less I believed that. I tried to wake him up, nothing. I took a pulse, couldn't find one." The more she went on, the quieter her words got. "I tried moving him and his limp body just...fell out of the chair." Tears began running down her cheeks. "I picked up the phone and called the police. I was trying CPR when Janice came in and started yelling at me and pushing me away and...I'm sure she told you the rest." Amy stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the wall and trying not to cry. She knew if she looked at Steve, she probably would.

Steve looked around the kitchen and saw a tissue box sitting on the counter by the door. He grabbed one and started to dry the tears from Amy's cheeks. "I'm sorry I had to put you through that," he said softly.

Amy put her hand over his and then took the tissue from him. "No, it's alright, really. While I was at Berkeley, I was part of a grief support group. The therapist in charge once told me that you're always okay as long as you feel something. It doesn't matter what - anger, despair - as long as you feel. I never understood what he meant by that. I mean, how can feeling like you want to rip your own heart out feel better than not feeling anything? Then I met this girl who had witnessed her mother commit suicide about a year prior. She...felt nothing. Nothing made her laugh, nothing made her cry...she was completely emotionless. I'm not sure she could even feel physical pain. She was a walking zombie. Then, I understood. As long as I still react to all these...whatever they are...I know I'm at least human. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that, but...It will get better. Can't get any worse anyway."

Steve smiled. "You amaze me."

"I do?" Amy asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. After all you've been through and you're still positive."

"You must have forgotten who I am. I'm the one who thinks people die by being around me. That could be the least positive thing ever. Although, I was positive about that."

"Was?" Steve asked, catching her use of the past tense. "Don't tell me I was able to change your mind...maybe just a little?" he teased.

Amy smirked. "Maybe a little." She paused then quickly uttered, "I'm still not a hundred percent convinced it's not just me."

"Well then, I still have some work to do, don't I?"

Amy started to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but she yawned instead.

He looked at his watch. "I should let you get some rest."

She shrugged. "Not sure I want to sleep anyway. I do, but I don't."

A confused look spread across his face.

"Every time I close my eyes, I either flashback to the night Carl died or the station. I've been either discovering a dead body or getting shot over and over again all day. Except this time, I open my eyes and see an empty room instead of…" Deciding she shouldn't have said what she was going to, she tried covering it up. "It's enough to make me not want to sleep. I guess I'll sleep when I'm exhausted enough to pass out."

Just like with the past tense usage, Steve caught everything she said. "Instead of what?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you open your eyes and see an empty room instead of...instead of what?"

Amy paused, suddenly embarrassed to say it. "Instead of you. When I first opened my eyes then, I saw you looking at me and telling me everything was okay. Now no one is there to tell me it's okay so my mind wanders to every dark place it can. It's stupid."

Steve suddenly felt compelled to hug her. He wrapped his arms around her and slowly, she did the same. "It's not stupid. What happened was a very traumatic thing. Having someone with you, even if it's a stranger, helps you not feel like you're going through hell alone."

Amy simply said, "Yeah," even though she agreed with him completely. She was never good at going through things alone and having someone there who at least appeared to care was always a little helpful. It kept her mind from automatically thinking the worst possible thing.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to treat you like my therapist or something. You shouldn't have to listen to me whine about my fears."

Steve pulled out of the hug and looked Amy in the eyes. "You can tell me anything. That's what friends are for, right? To help each other through things?"

Amy smiled. "You want to be my friend? Even after seeing me...I don't know...as a complete mess? After seeing my insane roommate?"

Steve laughed. "Oh, the crazy roommate clinched the deal."

Shaking her head, she said, "Maybe you're the crazy one."

He smiled at her. "Maybe I am."

"You know that I will probably never be able to repay you for all you've done."

"We'll work something out. In the meantime…" Steve took Amy's hand and led her out to the living room. He walked over to the couch and picked up Mr. Sniffles. "I want you to take good care of this little guy. If you wake up after another flashback, look at him and remember...that someone loves you. And everything will be okay." He handed the rabbit to Amy.

She took it in her hands. "Thanks." Then she yawned again.

Steve walked toward the front door with Amy following behind. He opened the door but turned back before stepping into the hallway. He got into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pen. "Give me your hand," he told her.

She gave him her left hand, and Steve wrote something on it. Taking it back, she looked and saw he'd written a phone number.

"Even if it's three in the morning. I'm less than five minutes away. Don't go to those dark places," he said, then kissed her on the forehead and left the apartment.

Amy watched him walk down the hall and through the door to the stairwell. Quietly, she closed the door. Clutching Mr. Sniffles, she then walked to the window, hoping to see Steve leave the building. A few seconds later, he came out the front door and began walking across the street to his police car. Before getting in, he turned back toward the building and looked up at the third floor. He saw Amy standing at her window looking down at him. He waved. She had Mr. Sniffles wave for her. He then got in his car and drove off toward his own place.

Amy closed the curtains and looked at her bunny friend. "Everything is going to be alright, isn't it?" Mr. Sniffles did not comment.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Saturday, April 20, 1974**_

The Saturday had passed by slowly but uneventfully. After Steve had left the night before, Amy broke down and took a Valium. It helped her sleep all night and half the next day. She woke up groggy and half out of it, so she wandered around the apartment a while, looking out the window to check the weather, turning on the TV to see if there was anything worth watching, thinking she should eat something though she didn't feel like it. Karen was at work and Amy wanted to take advantage of having the apartment to herself, but her energy was low and her pain was higher than it had been the whole day before. She attempted to take some kind of bath, and even though it had been over 24 hours and the doctor said showers were fine after that time, she still was afraid to get the wound wet. She also refused to take the bandage off because doing so would force her to look at it, something she couldn't bring herself to do yet.

What should have taken a half hour at most took an hour, but washing her hair at least made her feel a little better. She then walked around her apartment some more, trying to figure out something to do that didn't require her moving a lot. It was back to the TV for the rest of the afternoon, though she more stared at the box than actively watched it.

Around dinnertime, after doing nothing but snacking on saltines for the last four hours, Amy decided that she had to eat something with more substance. She started heading to the kitchen when she heard a knock at her door. Again checking the peephole, she was met with the same view as the night before.

"Don't tell me you had another exciting day you just had to tell me about," Amy said after opening the door.

"No, I just had a feeling you needed food." Steve held up a bag from a deli down the street.

"You must be psychic; I was just about to force myself to eat something. Come in."

Steve walked in and set the bag on the kitchen counter. "Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah. I just slept a long time and felt kind of blah. I think I'm actually more hungry than sick though. Plus my side hurts, and I don't want to take any of those pain pills on an empty stomach. You didn't have to bring me food though."

"Well, I can just take it back and eat it all myself."

"You did make the trip all the way here. I'd hate for it to be a waste. What did you get?" Amy asked, looking into the bag.

"Soup. I wasn't sure if you'd want to eat something heavy."

"That's perfect. It'll go well with the saltines I've been eating all day."

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Steve asked, concerned she wasn't telling him the complete truth.

"Yes, fine. Just groggy."

"But you did sleep?"

Amy nodded. "All night and half the day. No nightmares though."

Steve smiled. "Good. I knew Mr. Sniffles would be a good companion."

Amy started to take bowls out of the kitchen cabinet when there was another knock at the door. "Who could that be?" she wondered out loud. She looked through the peephole and her expression turned to one of annoyance.

"Who is it?" Steve asked.

"Paul," Amy whispered. "I'll get rid of him." She opened the door. "Paul, what a surprise. What are you doing here?"

"I'd kind of like to ask you the same thing," he told her. "I thought you were getting out of the hospital today."

"Oh, well, they let me go early, said I was doing fine. Karen brought me home. Thanks for offering though."

"They let you go that early? Are they insane? You get shot and they barely keep you overnight. What has health care come to these days?" Paul started walking into Amy's apartment, and she was hesitant to stop him for fear he'd make a scene. "You should be resting in bed," he told her as he walked in. He then turned and saw Steve in the kitchen. He just stared.

"Paul, this is a friend of mine from Berkeley, Steve. Steve, this is Paul, a friend from back home," Amy said, not wanting Paul to know Steve was a cop. She was afraid he would insult Steve and then she'd never hear the end of it. _How can you be friends with a cop? Don't you know they're out to get you? _ She could hear it all and wanted no part of it.

Steve went to shake Paul's hand. "Nice to meet you," he told the tall but lanky man even though he wasn't totally sincere. He was more glad to get the chance to size up the guy. If Karen's accusations held any water, he'd want to get a sense of what made this guy tick.

Paul was visibly reluctant, but he shook Steve's hand just the same. "Friend from Berkeley, huh? What were you studying?"

Amy rolled her eyes. She was irritated that Paul was giving Steve the third degree after just meeting him, but it was typical Paul behavior.

"Law. Business, taxes, that sort of thing. I recently moved to Sacramento to work in a firm there. Come back every now and then to visit friends and family. I heard what happened to Amy and thought I'd come check on her."

"Same here," Paul said, pushing his wire-framed glasses back into place with an index finger. "I can't believe she got shot at the police station. I mean, what the hell were the cops thinking, letting a civilian get in the middle of a shootout?"

"It wasn't a shootout, for God's sake," Amy blurted out before Steve could even register a reaction. "It was a stakeout that went wrong because that's sometimes what happens when you're dealing with highly volatile people."

"The cops or the criminal?" Paul asked her.

She glared at him. "The criminal."

"They tell you that so that you wouldn't sue them for negligence? If they were going to apprehend the guy, they should have gotten all the civilians out of the way first. It's like they didn't care at all."

Amy looked at Steve and even though he wasn't saying anything, she could tell all this talk was rubbing him the wrong way.

"Should they have tipped the guy off? Made him realize the place was crawling with cops so that he could have shot a lot more people? Why don't you tell me how they should have handled it since you've been to the Academy and all." Amy knew she sounded snotty and upset, but she didn't care.

"Whoa, mellow out, Mama," Paul said to Amy. "No need getting all defensive. The cops are big boys and can defend themselves. What you should be doing is making them explain why you got stuck in the middle of their mess and how they're going to atone for it, not defending them. They were in the wrong. Your blood is on their hands."

Amy had had enough. She took a deep breath and asked, "Did you just come here to bad mouth the police, or was there another reason?"

Paul looked at her like he couldn't believe she had just said that to him. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "I came to check on you. That's what friends do. This is a time when you need plenty of love and support and people to lean on."

"I am fine," was all Amy said to that.

"Yeah, but you forget that I know you. I know deep down you're not okay. You're hurting both physically and emotionally and you need someone there for you."

"I have people, plenty of them. I'm not as alone as you seem to think I am. Besides, you probably need to go back to L.A. soon. I assume you have a job or…"

Paul cut her off. "I can stay up here as long as you need me. You do need me, don't you?"

"The lady said she was fine," Steve said quietly, but not without a hint of anger in his voice.

Paul looked at him. "No offense, but I think I know her a little better than you."

Amy was about to lose her cool when Karen walked in the door. She turned and saw the trio in the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing here?" she shouted at Paul.

"Hi to you too, Karen," he said.

She slammed her purse on the kitchen counter. "You didn't answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?"

Paul laughed at her in disbelief. "She walks in and already assumes I'm up to something. Same paranoid Karen. I'm glad to see that things haven't changed. For your information, even though it really isn't any of your business, I'm here to see how Amy is doing. She needs me."

"Needs you?" Karen laughed. "She doesn't need you hanging around treating her like she's an infant," she told him. "So, there's the door. Feel free to use it."

"Hmm. You've told me how she feels," he said, looking at Karen, "and you've told me how she feels," he said, now looking at Steve, "but she hasn't told me if she wants me here." Paul looked at her.

She really didn't know what to say to make this whole scene just disappear. "I am fine right now. Maybe you and I could do lunch someday. Then you could see that I really am doing okay."

Paul looked at Amy, dumbstruck. He then looked at Steve, who was giving him a look that suggested he ought to leave.

"I don't see how she could have made it any plainer for you. She's fine and you can leave. I suggest you do so before I throw your stupid ass out myself," Karen warned him.

"Yeah, maybe that would be best. I'll call you later." He gave Amy a kiss on the forehead and headed toward the door, where he got in one final jab at Karen. "You'll make someone a real good ex-wife someday."

Karen lunged forward like she was going to attack Paul, but Steve ran over and grabbed her before she could. Paul turned to Steve and said, "It really was nice meeting you." He pulled the door closed behind him.

"What the hell did he mean by that?!" Karen yelled. "It really was nice meeting you," she said, putting emphasis on the word really.

"Nothing. The guy's just an arrogant SOB. Ignore him," Steve said, finally feeling it was safe enough to let Karen go.

"You see though, don't you? He's creepy! There's something weird going on here," Karen told him.

"There's nothing...there's nothing going on. He's just overprotective. That's it," Amy said.

Both turned to look at Amy, who was standing in the kitchen with her arms folded over her chest. She was shivering.

"That's it? Then why are you shivering?" Karen asked.

"I'm not shivering," Amy said. She unfolded her arms and began doing what she was doing before Paul knocked on the door. She opened a cabinet and got out a stack of bowls. All the way down to the counter, the bowls rattled in her shaky hands.

Steve looked at Karen. "Why don't you set the table, put the food on and all that?"

Karen nodded, walked into the kitchen, took the bag with the soup and the bowls in her hands, and went to the dining room table.

Steve walked into the kitchen and stood next to Amy. "You're obviously in a panic. It's not going to just go away on its own, is it? So why don't you tell me what about everything that just happened is bothering you the most."

"Nothing is bothering me. He just made me mad," Amy said quietly.

Karen came back in the kitchen to get spoons. "That's not usually how you react when you get mad."

Amy snapped. "What do you want from me? You want me to admit how much he worries me? How much I wonder if he's going to snap if I say just the wrong thing to him? How I hate his constant cynicism and hatred for the police? Fine! I admit it! Sometimes he scares the hell out of me and I just wish he'd go away!" She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Karen and Steve to stand there shocked.

"I can honestly say I never saw that coming," Karen finally uttered.

Steve walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. He did not find Amy in there, so he walked past the dining area and to two bedrooms.

"Hers is the one in front of you," Karen told him, coming out of the kitchen with the spoons.

Steve slowly walked into Amy's bedroom. He found her curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge facing the closet, his back to the human ball. "It's okay to feel that way, you know. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

She lay for a while, not saying anything. Finally, she mumbled, "I defended him. I defended him for years. How can I defend someone out of one side of my mouth and then say how scared I am of them out of the other?" She got quiet again. Steve said nothing, not wanting to push her. She spoke up again. "I didn't used to be afraid of him. He was always a kooky kid, but not scary. Lately though, he's just...gone a little off the deep end. He's so angry about the government and cops and life in general. Everyone is out to screw you kind of attitude. He's so concerned I'm in danger all the time. If I ever told him that I had a bad day because of something someone else said or did, he'd get all mad at them. 'I'd give them a piece of my mind' he'd say. I just thought it was a ridiculous reaction. They made me feel bad, not him."

"Yeah, but if someone makes your friends feel bad, you feel bad for them."

Amy sat up. "Okay, friend, tell me something. If I called you crying, saying that I was upset because I lost an internship to someone whom I felt didn't deserve it, how would you feel toward that person?"

"If they made you mad, I'd probably be mad too. I'd be upset that you were upset."

Amy gave Steve a look that said she didn't like his answer.

"I didn't say I'd do anything, but I would be upset. Your pain would be my pain."

Amy shrugged.

"Do you think this guy would hurt you any? Because if you do, we could get a restraining order…"

"No, no, not at all," Amy said, cutting him off. "He'd never hurt me. I just...wonder sometimes, that's all. I'm blowing this all out of proportion."

"Maybe, maybe not. I think I will humor Karen though and keep an eye on him."

"I still don't think he had anything to do with any of this mess. He was in LA." She stood up. "You know, let's go a couple hours without talking about it, huh? I bet our dinner is cold by now." She walked out of her bedroom. Steve just shook his head and followed her out the door.

* * *

After dinner, Karen excused herself to study and Steve decided he should probably leave as well. He'd been fairly quiet the rest of the evening anyway, a fact that was not lost on Amy.

"Are you okay?" she asked as the two walked to the front door. "You've been awfully quiet."

Steve turned and looked at her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Amy initially let it go but then remembered how he'd pushed her to tell him what was bothering her. "If something is bothering you, I wish you'd tell me. Lord knows I've told you plenty I didn't really want to."

Steve opened the door and walked into the hallway. He then turned around and looked at Amy. "Do you believe Paul, about your shooting being my fault?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Your fault? I never said that!"

"I know you didn't. I can't help but wonder of you think it is though."

Amy didn't know what to say. "You must think I think so. I guess in hindsight things could have gone differently, but isn't that always the way? That's why they say hindsight is 20/20. I could have done as I was told and gone up to your office, but I didn't really like the idea of leaving you alone with that nut, so I did the first thing that came to my head. It was probably wrong, but I'm not a trained police officer."

"Yeah, but I am," Steve snapped. Amy realized at that moment that this wasn't really about what she thought; it was about his guilt. She felt bad that she hadn't realized it before.

"This is not your fault. Did someone make you feel like it was? I mean, you got the guy you were after, and I didn't die or become paralyzed or anything."

"No, you're just stuck with the nightmares."

Amy still didn't know where all this was coming from. "I've had nightmares about a lot of things. It's been two years since my father died, and I still have dreams about finding him dead and blood all over the house, and…" She trailed off because bringing up the nightmares bothered her too much. "I didn't even know you then, so don't think that what you were involved with has a monopoly in my subconscious. You shouldn't feel guilty. What happened happened, and now we just have to live with it."

"Just live with it, huh?" Steve ran his fingers through his hair. "You're just living with it? You cry every day. You can't sleep. And it's all because I…" He stopped talking.

"Because you what?"

Steve just shook his head. "Nevermind." He started walking down the hall without even saying goodbye.

Amy stepped out into the hallway. "Call you tomorrow?" she shouted at him, but he didn't respond or turn around. He made it to the stairwell and before opening the door, he turned to look at her.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," was all he said before opening the door and leaving.

Amy stood in the hallway, dumbstruck. "What wasn't a good idea?" she said quietly.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Sunday, April 21, 1974**_

Mike pulled up to the curb in front of Steve's place. There, he saw the familiar sight of Steve's Porsche, so he knew his partner was home. As he got out of his car, he grabbed a grocery sack off the front seat. He carried the sack up the many stairs to Steve's front door, which he promptly knocked on. There was no answer after a few seconds, so Mike knocked again. "Steve, Buddy Boy! You in there? I brought beer and brats! Nice Sunday to watch the Giants beat the Cubs!"

Soon Steve answered the door looking like he just rolled out of bed. His hair was a mess, he was wearing white T-shirt, an old pair of lounging pants, and a robe. "Oh, hey Mike. Come on in," he said in manner that was more depressing than cheery.

"Rough night?" Mike asked, looking Steve up and down.

Steve shut the door. "Eh," he said. He knew Mike was getting at the complete opposite of what had actually happened. "It's not what you're thinking."

Mike walked into the kitchen and took the provisions out of the bag. "How do you know what I was thinking?" he asked.

"Because I've seen that look before."

Mike walked back into the living room. "Thanks for dressing up for me," he teased.

Steve looked down at himself before plopping into a chair. "Yeah, well, I sort of forgot you were coming over."

Mike sat down on the couch. "Okay, out with it."

"Out with what?"

"With what's gnawing at you. You're usually much more chipper on a day off."

"I'm fine. I'm just kind of tired."

Mike gave him the I-don't-believe-you-for-a-second look. "That's not tired, that's bothered. Out with it."

"Mike, it's not something I really want to talk about. It'll work itself out eventually."

"How? How will it work itself out?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, disappearing. Never speaking of it again."

Mike looked at his partner without speaking.

"Now don't go all detective on me, Mike. I don't want to talk about it."

"This thing, it's only going to get worse if it goes away. It will get worse and you'll get grumpy and then you'll be annoying to work with. Don't put me through that."

"Gee, thanks," Steve said in reference to the annoying to work with line. "What makes you think you know so much about this? It might get better."

"It's a girl, isn't it?"

Steve hated when Mike did that. "Why do you think that?"

"Because the last time you looked and acted like this, it was over a girl. Is it Amy?"

"You're not going to leave me alone until I tell you, are you?"

Mike shook his head.

"Alright, yes, it's Amy."

Mike shook his head again. "I had a feeling you were getting in too deep with that girl. What did she do?"

Steve didn't like Mike's insinuation. "First of all, there isn't any getting in too deep going on. And second, she didn't do anything, I did."

Mike could tell by his tone that Steve resented his statement. "I apologize. You're right; I'm judging the situation before even meeting all the players. Even though I haven't met her, I can tell you care about her very much. So I was right; if the problem, in this case Amy, just goes away, you'll be miserable."

"I hate it when you're right," Steve muttered.

Mike smiled. "I know. So what's the problem? If you don't want to tell me, I could always call Lenny and you could talk to a real professional."

"Pass." Steve took a deep breath. "That day of the stakeout. I was sitting in my car watching to see if Milani would show up. Carl Duncan's funeral was going on, so I was looking around the crowd to see if there was anything that stood out as suspicious. Then I saw her. She was standing in the back, all alone, with her head down. I don't know, I just kept watching her. She was so sad. I couldn't believe no one was there with her. Then I watch Janice attack her in front of everybody and I just…"

"Just what?"

"I wanted to take her away from all of it. I just wanted to see the girl smile." Steve paused again. "I got distracted. I got her taken hostage and shot."

Mike could see the anguish in Steve's eyes. "What makes you think that?"

Steve shook his head. "I just keep replaying it over and over in my head and then something that was said yesterday made me start doubting myself all over again. What if I'd have done this differently? Or that differently? Would she have walked away? Would Milani have gotten away?"

"Steve, no one at the scene mentioned that you were anything but on the ball. Okay, so a pretty girl distracted you. That happens daily," Mike teased. That managed to make Steve smile. "But it sounds like, from all the reports I had to read, that you did everything you could. She shouldn't have been outside the station in the first place."

"This isn't her fault," Steve was quick to point out.

"I didn't say it was," Mike was also quick to point out. "All I'm saying is that, well...there were a lot of ways that could have gone. Can't sit around dwelling on what ifs. We should be content with what we got. Maybe not happy but satisfied that it wasn't worse."

"She says the same thing. She's not even angry about it. She has nightmares and flashbacks, but she's not angry."

"She sounds like a smart girl. I'd like to meet her. If she's not upset, then don't you be," Mike told him.

Steve digested the conversation for a minute. "I just...maybe if it had been someone else…"

"Someone you weren't attracted to?"

"Yeah. It's stupid, isn't it? Falling for a person without even talking to them."

"Oh, Buddy Boy, if there is one thing love isn't, it's smart!" Mike laughed. "Take it from an old married man."

Steve laughed.

"I'm also going to take another wild guess that you had some kind of falling out with her."

"Stop reading my mind," Steve said, jokingly. "I just have this feeling that she blames me. Maybe not right now, but she'll wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and think, 'If it weren't for Steve screwing everything up…' "

Mike rolled his eyes. "That's ridiculous. I bet if anything, she sees you as her hero, and you know how women love heroes." He playfully punched Steve in the shoulder as he got up.

"I don't know…" Steve started.

"Well I do know. So stop worrying about it! Come on. Go get dressed and come help me with lunch. You'll feel better after the game and then you can call and make up with her."

Mike went to the kitchen. Steve got up, shook his head, and chuckled. Mike was always right.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Monday, April 22, 1974**_

Amy had spent the better part of Sunday trying to call Steve, but either he wasn't home or he didn't answer. She eventually gave up, but without a real answer as to why he'd left upset or what he meant by 'Maybe this wasn't a good idea', Amy's nerves were on edge. She kept wondering what she'd said or done, or wondered if it was all Paul's fault. She was tempted to drive to Sausalito, find his grandmother's house, and yell at him, but overall she was too tired and depressed to move off the couch. That's even where she slept for the night...or at least tried. Most of the night was spent tossing and turning and over thinking both Paul's appearance and Steve's sudden change in attitude. She desperately wanted to stop thinking because her negativity was clouding her perceptions, but she just could not shut off her brain.

At around 6am, Amy's eyes popped open after what felt like an hour of sleep. She looked at the clock on the wall and groaned. It was too early to wake up when she really had no reason to get up in the first place, so she tried falling back asleep. Karen got up and moved around the apartment getting ready for school, but Amy pretended to be asleep. She didn't want any reminders of anything that happened the day before, and she knew Karen would want to talk about it.

An hour later, Karen left, which left Amy still wide awake and over thinking. The phone rang, and Amy leapt off the couch and ran over to it like she was on fire.

"Hello?" she answered a little too eagerly.

"_What are you doing up at this time of day?"_ a lady asked.

Amy sat back down on the couch in disappointment. "Because the phone rang, Mother. If you didn't think I'd be awake, then why did you call me?"

"_Because I was awake, and I haven't talked to you since Saturday. Are you doing okay? Are you still in a lot of pain? You sound tired."_

"I'm doing fine, and I sound tired because you woke me up."

"_Are you sure you're fine? The pain isn't keeping you awake, is it?"_

"Mother, I'm fine, honest. The pain has gone down a lot since Friday."

"_Do you have enough pain pills?"_

"Plenty. Besides, I'm trying not to take them."

"_Why not? If you're in pain, take the pills."_

"Mother, they're habit forming. The last thing I need is to become hooked on pain pills. Besides, I don't want to rely on them forever. Really, I am fine. If it gets too bad, I take them. Trust me." Amy looked over at the phone, wishing she could just hang up the receiver.

"_Are you getting enough sleep? That can help healing."_

"All I did this weekend was sleep. I never even left my apartment."

"_Amy, why don't I come up there and stay with you awhile. That way you'll have someone to take care of you."_

An instant stomachache developed. "No! I mean, I have people looking out for me."

"_Karen is not really a reliable caretaker."_

"She's just fine. It's not like I'm an invalid. Besides, that's not who I meant." Amy cringed, realizing she should not have opened that can of worms, a can that might not even exist anymore.

"_Oh? Like who? Is there a man in your life?"_

Amy wasn't sure if her mother's tone was one of happiness or not, but she doubted it was thrilling news to the woman, so she attempted to avoid the issue altogether. "There are men in everyone's lives. Doesn't mean they're dating them all. Speaking of men, why did you have to tell Paul's mother l was in the hospital? Now he's trying to fawn all over me, and it's driving me crazy. He probably came up here just because of that."

"_Oh no dear, he's been up there for quite a while. I think at least a month, maybe more. So he's taking care of you? That's reassuring."_

Amy was so surprised by what she'd just heard that she didn't even hear the last part of her mother's statement. "A month? Are you sure? He told me when he visited me in the hospital that he'd gotten into town only a couple days before. Are you sure you heard that right?"

"_Are you sure you heard right? It's been longer than a couple days since I've seen him next door."_

Amy wasn't sure what to make of that. It wasn't like her mother to get details like that confused, and she and Paul's mother talked almost every day across the fence. So if that was the case, why did Paul lie? Before she could quiz her mother more, there was another knock at her door.

"Someone's at my door. I have to go."

"_At your door at this hour? Who would be knocking at your door so early?"_

Amy, dragging the phone down the short hallway to the front door, skipped looking through the peephole and just unlocked the door. Opening it, she found Steve standing there. "A policeman," she told her mother and locking eyes with her visitor.

"_A policeman? Are you in more trouble?"_

"He's a detective, Mother. He arrested the guy who shot me. I'm not in any trouble. I was helping him with the investigation into Carl's death. That's probably why he's here." Finally looking away, she stepped back and motioned her head for him to come in.

"_Well…"_

"Well, nothing," Amy snapped. "I have to go; I can't keep him waiting."

"_You're sure there's nothing more going on?"_

Amy sighed and took the receiver away from her ear momentarily. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and returned to the call. "Meaning…?"

"_Meaning...I'm a bit concerned, that's all. The only reason a detective would be knocking at your door this early would be if he's arresting you."_

"He's not arresting me," Amy growled through her clenched jaw.

"_Or there's something else going on between you two."_

By now, Amy's face was bright red. Steve, worried that he had walked into something he shouldn't have, whispered, "Why don't I come back?" He then started heading for the door.

Amy quickly nestled the receiver between her ear and shoulder and used her now free hand to grab his left arm. Squeezing tightly, she pleaded, "No! Please...don't. Stay."

They locked eyes a moment longer until Amy heard a perturbed voice in her ear say, "_Really, Amy? A cop? You're dating a cop? Paul is going to be a scientist, you know. Brilliant and wealthy. The kind of man who will give you the lifestyle you're accustomed to. No cop can do that."_

Since Amy hadn't returned the receiver fully to her ear, Steve heard everything Margaret Johnson said. He also saw the tears building up and falling out of her eyes. All things considered, he had a feeling that they were caused by a combination of anger and embarrassment. Feeling like looking away would make her feel worse, he decided to hold his gaze and give her a soft smile.

Ready to crawl in a hole and die, she averted her gaze from his and told her mother, "What, a lifestyle of being bossed around and neglected? Is that what you mean? Because that's the lifestyle I'm accustomed to. If that's what you mean, then I'd rather take that cop and live under a damn bridge!"

Slamming down the receiver, Amy turned around, gruffly placed the phone on an end table, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry," she told Steve, her voice cracking. "You didn't need to hear that. And I didn't mean...what I...what I said."

He slowly approached her and put his arms gently around her shoulders. That's all it took for her to let the tears flow. Turning her around, he put her head on his chest, letting her cry on his jacket while he held her tightly.

When her sobs had slowed, he told her, "It's alright. I've heard worse about cops than we're not brilliant and wealthy. Little does she know, but we're a lot more handsome than scientists."

That finally got something other than crying out of Amy; she chuckled.

"Hey, now. That's nothing to laugh at! Our calendar sold several copies last year! More than the firemen even."

"Oh, sure," she mumbled into his jacket.

After waiting for a moment, and trying to decide which of the dozen questions he now had, he quietly asked, "You wanna talk about it? I promise, this time I won't make you."

She pulled away from him and walked quickly to the kitchen for tissues. "Not really, no," she answered without even looking at him. "Maybe later."

"Fair enough. Just know I'll be there to listen when...or if...you do want to talk."

Coming out of the kitchen, a couple wadded up tissues in her hands, she looked at Steve and thanked him. She then suddenly changed the subject, blurting out, "I'm surprised to see you. I...um...tried calling you yesterday but you must have been busy."

Steve suddenly felt a combination of worry and guilt. "Were you okay?" he asked, concerned that his pity party had caused him to ignore her when she needed him.

"Yeah, I was fine. I just..." It seemed almost like instinct for her to not ask him to come clean, but she decided the only way this was going to work was to just come out with it. "What happened Saturday?" she asked, almost ready to cry again.

Steve sighed. He knew this conversation had to happen, and he'd rehearsed it in his mind all night, but he still wasn't sure what to say. "Is this how you feel every time I made you tell me what was wrong?"

"Like you just can't find the right words to say that won't make the other person think you're losing it? Pretty much. And trust me, I'm not usually the type to admit things like being scared of Paul to, well, anyone, but…" she paused, again apprehensive about saying how she was feeling. "But I feel like I can tell you anything, and you won't think I'm crazy. I'd hoped you'd do the same." She shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.

Steve sat down on the couch and pulled Amy down next to him. "That's because you're not crazy. You've been through so much in the last two years, and you've been so hard on yourself about it. I feel bad for you. And then I just add to it."

"_You_ add to it? What do you mean by that? If you mean you've somehow added to my misery, you couldn't be farther from the truth. Despite the fact that you've seen me cry a hundred times in less than a week, you've become the one bright spot in my life. Having you around makes me feel less scared. After I was being wheeled away to the emergency room, I realized that for that little time you were with me, trying to calm me down, I didn't feel so much pain. I felt a sense of calm in a situation that was anything but. Once you left, all that pain came back. I'm sure the doctors and nurses were fed up with me. I cried like an infant the whole time."

"You were in pain."

"I know, but I was more scared. I spent the next several hours scared. But when you were around, things were better. The pain was less, the anxiety was less...life was more tolerable. If you add anything to my life, it's certainly not misery."

"Thanks."

"Is that what you're worried about, if you make me miserable or not?" Amy asked, finding that rather odd.

"No, not really. I just keep replaying the scene in my head and thinking that there were so many things I could have done differently, things that wouldn't have put you in harm's way."

"What exactly could you have done differently?" Amy inquired.

"I could have done a lot of things differently. When Milani was approaching his mother's grave, he looked at me and stopped walking. I assumed he made me as a cop, so instead of waiting until he was at her grave and doing whatever it is that he does, I tried to arrest him right there, putting you in the middle. Maybe then he wouldn't have been so ready to grab his gun, or maybe he would have thought I wasn't a cop after all because I didn't try to arrest him at that very second."

Amy thought for a second. "I remember that. I froze. I had no idea what was going on, but unlike a normal person, I stood there instead of running. None of what happened would have if I'd have just, backed up or something."

"There was no guarantee that he wouldn't have grabbed you or shot at you anyway, even if you had tried to leave. If I would have waited, you would have gotten out of there just fine," Steve said as if there was no other truth but that.

"Guarantees, huh?" Amy asked. "Okay, well then was there a guarantee that if you _had_ waited, that jerk would have put flowers on his mother's grave, turned around, and surrendered without a fight? I highly doubt that. No one comes to a cemetery with a gun unless they plan on using it." She took Steve's hands in hers. "You're beating yourself up because you keep trying to make the situation come out perfectly. Well, I keep thinking of all the things I could have done differently as well. I could have left earlier than I did after Janice yelled at me. I should have left even earlier than that probably. I really shouldn't have puked on his shoes."

The two looked at each other and laughed. "I don't know. I think that was the one bright spot of the situation," Steve said.

"That will be the only time in history that someone says getting sick was the best part of a situation," Amy replied, still chuckling. "Still, it didn't help; it just pissed him off more. But hey...I'm not perfect. You're not perfect. The situation was far from perfect. Is there ever a situation in your job that _is_ perfect?"

Steve looked at her. "You don't think I'm perfect?" he asked, a smile coming back to his face.

Amy laughed again. "Maybe not all the time?"

"Especially not that day."

"Hey, no one died, that guy is in jail. It could have been a lot worse."

"Mike told me that same thing yesterday."

"Well if he said it, and I said it, then it must be true. Believe us!"

Steve squeezed Amy's hand. "I know you're both right, but I just keep thinking that if I hadn't been…" He couldn't admit it to Amy; it had been hard enough tell Mike, and now was just not the time. He stood up and looked at Amy. She was giving him a concerned look. "Do you blame me?"

Amy, tears welling up in her eyes, stood up as well. Feeling free to embrace him now that he had just had her in his arms for a solid five minutes, she put her arms around Steve and held him tightly. She rested her head on his shoulder and said, "I don't blame you for anything. You're a hero in my eyes. You could have tried to shoot the guy in the head, but instead you put your gun down in an effort to save me. How could I possibly blame you for that?"

Steve wrapped his arms around her as well and started running his fingers through her hair. "I just wish I felt like I didn't somehow contribute to your nightmares."

Amy pulled out of the hug. "I seem to remember you telling me that my lack of self-esteem was something we would work on. Right?"

Steve nodded.

"Okay, so your doubting and blaming yourself is something we'll also work on. But can we work on it together? I'm no good at trying to do this alone." Amy kind of chuckled in an effort to lighten the mood, but more as a way to make light of the fact that she'd just put herself down, again.

Steve took her face in his hands. "Yeah, we can. I'm sorry I overreacted before. I guess this whole thing is bothering me more than it should. I just…" Again, he couldn't quite tell her that his feelings for her were the reason he felt so guilty about the incident.

"I hope you don't put yourself through all this turmoil over everything that happens at work; you'll give yourself an ulcer."

Steve shook his head. "No, not everything."

Amy smiled. "Good. But a little self-reflection never hurts. It's why you're a good cop." After they held another staring contest for several moments, Steve let go of her face and Amy wiped the tears out of her eyes subtly. "Is that what you came over for?" she asked.

"Actually, I thought maybe we could go to Jasmine's school, ask her about her journal."

"Um, sure. Let me get dressed, grab something to eat…"

"We'll grab something on the way," Steve said.

Surprised, she paused before uttering, "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"You want to take me out to breakfast? In public?"

Chuckling, he nodded, "Yes, breakfast, with you, in public. Unless you're suddenly allergic to food or something…"

"No! No, food is good. But now you're just spoiling me. First dinner, now breakfast. And you thought my getting shot was a bad thing?" She smiled at him and ran into the bedroom to put on some clothes.

Steve let out a sigh, both of relief and annoyance that he still couldn't be completely honest that his agony had little to do with the case itself. He wandered over to the dining room, looked out the window, and then looked at a narrow table that was behind the dining room table. The long table was covered with picture frames, so Steve started looking at them. There were recent pictures of Amy and Karen, and some of people Steve had never seen. There was a picture of a chubby, smiling baby laying on a floor. "Is this you as a baby?" Steve asked Amy.

She peeked her head around the corner to see what he was looking at. "Yeah, that's me. Fat little thing, wasn't I?"

Steve chuckled. "I think you were cute." He then looked over at a picture of Amy, Karen, and a little boy, taken when they were children. Stuck in the corner of the frame was a picture of Amy, Karen, and Paul as adults. Steve assumed the little boy in the first picture must be Paul.

Amy came out and saw what Steve was doing. "Paul, Karen, and me as kids, and then twenty years later. You can tell by Karen's expression that she wasn't a fan of Paul's either time."

Steve looked closer at the photos. Karen was giving Paul a dirty look in them both. Steve had to smirk at that. He then looked at the recent picture. He thought Amy's expression wasn't exactly one of happiness. She was smiling in the childhood photo, but not so much in the recent one. Steve looked around and saw that Amy had disappeared into the kitchen, so he quickly took the newest photograph and stuck it in an inside jacket pocket. There was something telling about that picture, and Steve wanted more time with it.

Amy came out of the kitchen and announced she was ready, so the pair went downstairs and out to the street. Amy looked around for the LTD Steve had brought her home in. Instead, she saw him walking over to a goldish-green Porsche. "That's your car?" she asked in disbelief. "What about that other one?"

"That's the Department's. Mike has it right now. This one is mine."

Amy walked over and looked at it in awe. She walked to the passenger's side where Steve had the door open for her. She attempted to get in three times.

"It won't bite, you know," Steve said. "It's just a car."

Chuckling nervously, she told him, "I know, but I don't want to scratch it or something."

"By sitting in it?" He laughed. "You're cute. Get in."

Amy entered the car gingerly as if she and it were both made of glass. Once she was in, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Steve shook his head and closed the door.

* * *

The two sat at a small table in a little breakfast cafe on Union Street. Amy took a drink of orange juice and then proceeded to yawn.

"You look tired," Steve told her. "Do you not get much sleep last night?"

Amy wasn't sure if she really wanted to tell Steve that he was the reason she couldn't sleep, so instead, she said, "I couldn't seem to get comfortable. I'm used to sleeping on my left side and not being able to is hard." She still managed to tell the truth while avoiding any controversial issues.

"Does it still hurt a lot?" he asked, drinking his coffee.

"Not so much. I guess. I mean, I've never been shot before, so I don't know how slowly or quickly they stop hurting."

Steve smiled. "I don't think there's a set time for the pain to go away."

"Yeah, probably not. I do feel better than I thought I would. After seeing all that blood that day...you kind of think you'll never recover." She then gasped. "I just realized something. I ruined your coat."

"What?" Steve had no idea what she was talking about.

"The coat you were wearing that day. You had it all wadded up trying to keep my side from bleeding. I ruined it."

Steve had actually forgotten all about the coat. He had given it to an ambulance attendant to have them throw it away with all the other blood-soaked garments at the hospital. He hadn't cared to take the time to get blood out of a coat. "Oh, don't worry about that. I can get another coat."

"But I didn't mean to bleed all over your clothes. I'll buy you a new one."

"You don't have to buy me a coat," Steve chuckled. "Worry about something else."

Amy sat and played with a sugar packet that was on the table. She shook it and turned it all around in her fingers. Suddenly she blurted out, "You are single, aren't you?"

Steve almost choked on his coffee. "Where did that come from?"

"You told me to worry about something else. I thought about a lot of things as I was laying awake last night. That was one of them. I don't want some woman coming after me on the street, accusing me of breaking up her home, or stealing her man, or…"

Steve, laughing, put his hand over Amy's mouth. "Maybe I should have told you not to worry about anything instead." He took his hand off her mouth. "That's one thing you don't have to worry about. There are very few women in this world who can put up with dating a cop for too long."

"Oh, okay. Sorry, I just start thinking of things and in my overactive mind they get all messed up and...well, anyway…I say and worry about dumb things all the time." Amy just stopped talking.

Steve looked her in the eyes. "And on you, it's cute. Possibly a little tiring, but like you said, we'll…"

"...work on it," they said together.

"You have a lot of work to do, Mr. Keller. You'll get tired of it soon enough." She started playing with the sugar packet again, trying to distract herself from the putdown she just slammed herself with.

"That's going to be task number one, getting you to stop insulting yourself."

Amy shrugged and muttered, "The truth hurts sometimes." She threw the sugar packet back with the others. "What do you mean there are very few women who can date a cop?"

"After the first time a date gets interrupted by work, they usually see that this will be a pattern and give up."

"Just because you work odd hours? So what? That seems awfully selfish. I mean, a lot of people work weird hours and are always on call. Women don't seem to have a problem marrying doctors and their schedules can be just as weird. I suppose this comes from my social work background. I've been out in the field in the middle of the night several times. You do what you have to."

"Is that what you do for a living, social work?" Steve asked, realizing he'd known her almost a week and had never asked.

Amy nodded. "Counseling. All ages, but mostly with kids. In college, I had my share of middle of the night calls during fieldwork. Sadly, children and adults are in crisis at all times of the day, just like the people you work with."

"So you wouldn't mind if, say, in the middle of a dinner or something, Mike comes and grabs me because there's a case?" Steve asked hesitantly.

She scrunched up her face as if the question was too ridiculous to even ask. "Of course not. Sure, it may be annoying at first, but I'm guessing you'd be annoyed also. It's the life we chose for ourselves. We chose to help others any time they needed us, so we sacrifice little things here and there."

Steve was going to comment on how refreshing her attitude was and how maybe they should actually give it a test run, but the waitress brought their food and killed the mood. Instead, he looked at Amy's breakfast. "Are you sure that's all you want?" he asked her, seeing a cinnamon roll on her plate.

"Absolutely. I'm not a fan of huge breakfasts. Besides, they have the best cinnamon rolls. They're all warm and gooey like they just came out of the oven." She ripped a piece off and handed it to Steve. "Here, try it."

"I don't want to eat your food."

She pushed it a little more at him. "Just try it. I'm not exactly going to starve to death."

He took the piece and ate it. "You're right."

"See? I think it's the only thing I've ever eaten here, though all the food looks good." She looked at his plate. "Like, whatever that is."

"It's a crêpe," he said.

"What's in it?" she asked.

He cut the end off one crêpe, put the piece on his fork, and handed it to her. "Strawberries and creme. Try it."

"Oh, I'm not eating your food. I'll just break down and try it some other time."

"Just try it. I'm not exactly going to starve to death," he said, mocking what she'd just said to him.

Amy scrunched up her face and looked at the fork. The crêpe was drizzled with strawberry sauce and whipped cream, which made grabbing it off the fork and eating it with her fingers difficult. She attempted a couple times but couldn't quite get past getting her fingers sticky.

"Just eat it off the fork. I don't have any communicable diseases."

It went against her nature of not sharing utensils with just anyone, but she did it anyway.

"That I know of," Steve finished.

Amy stopped chewing and looked at him like he was serious. He just started laughing.

"That's not funny," Amy said through a mouthful of crêpe. "That is good though."

"Now you have two things you can order." He cut off another piece of his crêpe and said, "So, Carl was a teacher of yours? In social work or psychology?"

Amy nodded and took a drink. "Social work. Believe it or not, he was my favorite professor at Berkeley. He had such enthusiasm for the job and working with kids. So many people burn out on social work that I liked having someone to talk to who still had a passion for it after all those years."

"Sounds like police work. Some people, it's in their blood. Others, they're gone in a matter of years."

"You get it. Maybe that's why we get along; we both have similar jobs. Anyway, after graduation, I was finding it difficult to land a job, so Carl had me volunteering at the youth shelter I told you about. He and Janice were also looking for someone to care for Jasmine at the time, so that's what I did for money. He was always looking out for positions for me, calling people he knew…I owed him a lot."

Steve couldn't help but wonder why she was unemployed if this guy was helping her so much, but he realized he didn't really know about the world of counseling and finding positions right out of college could be rare.

"Now I guess I'll be out there pounding the pavement on my own. I doubt another nanny job is in the cards; my previous employer didn't give me a very good recommendation."

Steve chuckled. "Consider yourself lucky. Was he this generous with all his students or just the ones he liked?" He wasn't sure exactly what he was getting at with that question, but there was something about this he couldn't shake off.

"He helped all his students if they needed it, but he didn't take them all under his wing like with me. I guess he saw potential in me that he didn't see in everyone." Amy took a bite of her cinnamon roll and thought for a second. "What are you getting at?" she asked Steve.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to get a good picture of the man. The more I know about him, the easier it will be to figure this mess out."

"You think he was doing something inappropriate with us? That couldn't be further from the truth." Amy was slightly irritated. "He was a total gentleman. He never tried anything with me or anyone else I know."

Steve tried to end this as quickly as it started. "Okay, okay. I didn't mean anything bad was going on. I just need to know everything. That's all."

Amy looked down at her plate. "Sorry. I know. Sometimes when you're trying to find the truth, you find something you'd rather not have ever found. I'm not really helping."

"Yes you are. You told me about the journal, and who knows, maybe there's something valuable in there." He looked at his watch. "What time does school start?"

"Eight. It'll probably take twenty minutes to get over there."

"Where is the school?"

"Seacliff, on California Street by the park. You'll be pretty popular," Amy told him.

Steve flagged down the waitress, who handed him the check. "Why is that?" he asked.

"It's an all girls school." She smiled.

He chuckled as he laid down a tip. "If I were 12 again, that would be the greatest news in the world." He was glad that Amy seemed to not be mad about his line of questioning anymore.

* * *

Steve pulled his car into the parking lot around 8:30. He began to get out while Amy stayed put. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

Amy shook her head. "Restraining order, remember? I'm not taking any chances with that lunatic."

"Yeah, probably a good idea." He closed his door and leaned back in through the open driver's window. "Miss Blake?" he asked, referring to Jasmine's teacher.

"Yeah, in room two."

"You're going to be okay here alone with the car? You can touch the radio if you're daring." He handed her the keys and winked at her to let her know he was teasing.

Amy wasn't sure that was a good idea. "I think I'll just wait in silence. I don't want to chance breaking anything."

Steve shook his head. "I'll be right back." He walked away and to the front door of the school. He entered and saw the office was just to his left. Walking in, he showed the secretary his badge and let her know why he was there. She was accommodating and didn't even inquire as to why a detective would want to talk to a kindergartener, instead simply leading him down the hall and to her classroom. The secretary went into the room to get Jasmine, and when the little girl came out, she was ecstatic.

"King Steve!" she shouted before leaping up, her arms extended, and giving him a huge hug. "Did you come to play with me?"

Steve lifted her up. "No, not today, kiddo. You have to stay at school. But, I did come up with a way you could help me."

Her eyes widened. "Really? I can help the police?"

"Uh huh. Amy told me that you write down everything you hear while you're spying in a journal."

"I do," the little girl said matter-of-factly. "Amy told me to because good spies need to remember what they hear."

"She was right. See, I think maybe you heard something that can help Amy and me solve a mystery."

"I did?"

"Maybe. Do you think you could let me see your journal sometime?"

"Sure, you can see it right now." Jasmine jumped down from Steve's arms and went into her classroom. Steve peeked in the open door and saw her digging through her backpack. She grabbed something and ran back out to the hall where she handed Steve a pink glittery book.

"You brought it to school?" he asked her.

"Of course. Lots of juicy things happen here, too. I can't go anywhere without it."

Steve knelt down. "Thank you, but I'm going to have to take it with me."

At first, Jasmine frowned, but then she shrugged. "That's okay. If I hear anything today, I'll just remember it. I have a new journal at home because this one is almost full."

"Good idea. Thank you for letting me borrow this. You're being a big help."

"Are you and Amy gonna come back and play sometime?" she asked.

"I hope so. Amy misses playing with you. She was very happy to see Mr. Sniffles though. He's keeping her company at night."

Jasmine smiled. "Good. I gotta go back to class."

"Okay. I'll see you later, alright?"

Jasmine gave Steve a hug that almost knocked him over before she waved goodbye and went back into her classroom.

Steve, still kneeling in the middle of the hallway, looked down at the glittery notebook. He quickly put in under his jacket, not really wanting to people to see a grown man carrying a pink notebook.

He walked up to his car and opened the door. Amy, who was mindlessly staring out the window, jumped and gasped.

"Sorry," Steve said, getting in the car.

"I guess I wasn't paying attention. Did she say you could have it?"

"Better." He got into his jacket and pulled out the pink journal. "She gave it to me," he said, handing it to Amy.

"She had it with her?" she asked, taking it from Steve.

"Naturally. Lots of juicy things happen at school too."

"Silly me. Let's just hope there's something valuable to you in here." Steve pulled out of the parking space as Amy started flipping through the journal.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Monday, April 22, 1974**_

Steve and Amy walked into the squadroom. "Are you sure I should be here? Isn't this a restricted area or something?" Amy asked nervously.

"It's fine. You're with me. Civilians come in here all the time." Steve took her hand and led her over to his desk. He took off his jacket and put it over the back of his chair. He then told Amy to have a seat in a chair that was next to his desk. She did so and started looking through the journal. Steve's phone rang, so he answered it and took a quick call to which Amy paid no attention. She quickly became wrapped up in Jasmine's tales of the Duncan household.

Steve got off the phone and looked over at Amy, who was laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing important. Apparently she was spying on a tea her mother was having. The things these women said out loud. I think it's hilarious, but I hope Jasmine didn't understand any of it."

He looked over her shoulder and tried reading the same page. After he didn't say anything for a while, she looked back at him and asked, "You don't know what that says, do you?"

"Not a clue."

She chuckled and pointed to something. "That says, 'The fat lady in the brown polka dot dress shoved cake in her mouth.' "

Steve looked at the sentence more closely. "That says all that? How did you figure that out?"

"I read kidspeak. It's something you pick up over time."

Shaking his head, he told her, "I'm glad you're here to read it."

"Do you want me to write down what I read?" she asked him.

He got into his desk and pulled out a legal pad. "Please do," he told her, handing her the paper.

Just then, Mike walked in and over to Steve's desk. "Happy grand jury day, Buddy Boy," he said happily.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Today, O'Brien is taking Milani's murder case up before a grand jury who will decide that there is every reason in the world to try the man for murder, and we can finally put this whole thing behind us."

Steve looked at Amy. He was suddenly worried about her mental state. "Yeah, behind us," was all he could say.

Amy, who'd been looking at Mike, looked at Steve. "Good. I hope they fry him. I'll gladly spring for the electricity." She squirmed a little in her chair, trying to shift her weight to the right side of her body. She looked back up at Mike. "You must be Mike," she said, extending her right hand out to him. "I'm Amy Johnson. You've probably heard of me."

Mike shook her hand. "Of course I have. Say, I'm sorry about all that…"

She cut him off. "Don't be silly. It's okay. I'm glad he'll be going away for a long time. The sooner, the better. That way, like you said, we can all put this behind us." She stood up. "I should be the one apologizing anyway. You probably think I've been taking up all of Steve's time on something that isn't even a case."

"Why don't you guys come in here?" Mike said, indicating his office.

The two walked into Mike's office. "Sit down," he told Amy. She sat down in the chair across from Mike. Steve took his usual spot on the table beside Mike's desk. Looking at Amy, Mike said, "I am glad to finally meet you after hearing so much about you."

Amy chuckled nervously. "Hopefully it was good. I'm really not crazy."

Mike laughed. "Well then you're with the wrong crowd. We're all a little crazy around here."

Amy laughed. "But really, I'm sorry if Steve made you think there was a lot to these accidents. They probably are just accidents. I guess."

Mike put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Let me tell you something about this guy that you may not know. He's got good instincts. At first, I was like you, not sure there was anything more to this, but he convinced me otherwise. So don't think you're wasting our time, okay?"

Amy smiled at them both.

Steve leaned over and whispered, "I told you so." He then took the book from her and showed it to Mike. "Remember I told you that the Duncan's daughter had a book of secrets? Got ahold of it, and my translator is here to tell us what's in it."

Mike put on his glasses, sat on the corner of his desk, and looked at the book. "Translator?"

"That's me. Steve doesn't know kidspeak, so he can't read it." She looked at Mike. "Do you have kids?"

"I do," Mike said. "Although Jeannie is a little bit older than this."

"I still bet you can read it," Amy told him.

Mike started looking through pages. After reading one, he began laughing.

Steve looked at him in disbelief then looked at the page. "Don't tell me you can read that?"

"You can't?" he asked Steve. "It says, 'Daddy bringed the dog in the house but Mommy yelled swear words at him and told him to send the mutt back to where it came from. Mutt must be the dog's name.' "

Amy laughed. "Oh, I remember that. Carl found a stray puppy and brought it home for Jasmine. Janice had a fit because a dog would mess up her house."

Steve looked at both of them. "You guys are conspiring against me, aren't you?"

Amy stood up and stood next to Mike. "I guess someone in the room needs a lesson on kids."

"Yeah, you better get on that, Buddy Boy," Mike said, laughing.

Steve looked at Amy. "Thanks a lot."

She smiled at him. Mike watched both of them and grinned to himself.

Then came a knock at the door. Inspector Tanner came in with papers in his hand. "Mike, here are the results on that tea you sent down last week." He handed Mike the papers.

"Thanks, Bill," Mike said as Tanner started to leave the office. He stopped and turned back around. "Oh, and there's a guy named Norman Jennison coming up to talk to you guys." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Norman the accountant?" Amy asked.

"Mmm hmm," Mike said, now reading the lab results. "Well, that's interesting."

"There was tea in those tea bags?" Steve quipped.

"There was. However, there was also something called mexasofaline."

"What tea bags?" Amy asked.

"The ones Mike found in Carl's office," Steve quickly told her. "What is that? I've never heard of it," he then asked Mike.

Mike flipped a page. "Says here it's a chemical that when mixed with liquid and ingested, causes the drinker's heart to stop. It mimics a heart attack and is not easily detectable because it eliminates itself from the body quickly." Mike quickly got on the phone and called the coroner's office, telling Bernie to check for this chemical in Carl's Duncan's blood.

Amy, in the meantime, felt sick to her stomach. She sat down and stared straight ahead. Steve looked at her and knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Hey, you get that thought out of your head right now," he said, almost scolding her. He knelt down in front of her chair.

"What thought? The thought that I was the one who gave him that tea? That because of that, I killed him? That thought?" She was on the verge of tears again.

"Yeah, that's the one."

Mike got off the phone and started watching them.

"Let me ask you something," Steve started. "Did you put that in the tea bags?"

Amy shook her head.

"Then end of discussion. Now stop crying. You won't have any tears left soon enough." He wiped the tears that had escaped her eyes off her cheeks.

Mike watched Steve trying to comfort Amy and smiled. Any doubts he'd had about the two quickly vanished after only this short display.

"Did the report say that all the bags were laced with that stuff?" Steve asked Mike.

Mike picked up the report and read through it. "Yes, they all tested positive for mexasofaline."

"I'd just bought that box," Amy said.

Steve looked at her. "Where?"

"At the grocery store where I always bought it. It's a couple blocks from their house."

"When?"

Amy tried to remember, but came up blank. "I have no idea. I just remember having to take the little sticker off the lid to get the box open."

"Alright, so we need to figure out where that box came from and who had access to it," Mike said. He got back on the phone and called the lab, asking them to check the box for fingerprints, most importantly ones inside the box. He then looked up and saw Bill Tanner coming back toward his office. The man entered and informed Mike and Steve that Norman was waiting in an interview room.

"We'll work this out after we talk to him," Mike said, heading for the door. He looked at Amy. "Why don't you stay in here and make yourself comfortable? We'll be right back."

Amy nodded.

Steve stood up and ran out the door, grabbed the legal pad he had given her earlier off his desk, and ran back in the office. "Can you do something for me?" he asked a still visibly shaken Amy. "Try to remember everything you can about when you bought that tea. No matter how trivial it may seem, write it down. Even the littlest thing might help us figure out what happened."

"Okay, yeah, I'll try," she said quietly, taking the pad from Steve.

"That's my girl. I'll be right back and not far away." Steve kissed her on the forehead and followed Mike to the interview room.

Amy sat for a while, trying to process her thoughts. Her brain was stuck on the fact that she gave Carl the tea that killed him. Steve was right, she didn't put this weird chemical in the tea, and she certainly didn't know it was in there, but still, she gave it to him, so her mind had no other way to translate that but to say, "You're a murderer." She stood up from the chair and walked around Mike's desk. She got under it so no one could see her and bawled.

* * *

"Mr. Jennison, thanks for coming in," Mike said as he and Steve walked into the interview room. Mike sat down at the table across from the well-dressed accountant while Steve chose to stand in the background.

"I'm afraid I'm not 100% sure what this has to do with me," Norman said. "I was under the impression that Carl died of a heart attack."

"We're just tying up some loose ends, that's all. Some, how should I say this, inconsistencies came up along the way, and your input could be very valuable," Mike said. He opened the folder he brought in with him. "One thing we noticed was the amount of large deposits and withdrawals going in and out of their accounts recently. Normally, I wouldn't care what they did with their money, but when a possible crime is involved, I get curious. Care to shed some light on what this money is going to?" Mike asked.

At first, the accountant didn't say anything. Then he asked if he needed a lawyer. Mike, trying to dissuade him, told him only if he'd done something wrong. The man then sat for a little longer, contemplating his next move.

"Does Janice have to know?" he asked.

"Whatever you say in here is just between us," Mike assured him.

The man gulped. "Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I have a feeling she was blackmailing someone."

Mike and Steve stared at him. "Blackmail?" Steve asked, thinking this sounded quite odd.

"She'd bring me these checks to have me deposit them into her account. They were written on an account from the Cayman Islands, and I could never find out who owned it. I deposited the checks and the funds were always there, but I was weary of what was going on. I'd tried to ask her about them because I thought maybe...well…" He trailed off and suddenly went silent.

"You thought maybe what?" Steve asked, annoyed.

"Maybe that someone found out about the affair."

Steve wondered if that would come up again. "Whose affair?" he asked Norman.

"Mine and Janice's," he said, looking down at the table as if he were embarrassed.

Steve shook his head.

"I'm a little confused. You think someone found out about your affair with Janice, yet they are paying her? I'm not really a blackmail expert, but doesn't it usually go the other way?" Mike asked. He smelled something fishy.

"I...She would never tell me where that money came from! I also thought maybe it had something to do with the shelter Carl was building, but Janice had nothing to do with that; that was between him and a Dr. Caldwell. Carl could have given Janice the checks to give to me. Carl was always so busy and never at home. He cared more about his job and that shelter than he did his family. I wanted Janice to divorce him, but as long as he kept her living in luxury, she wasn't leaving."

Mike shook his head. He wasn't sure what to expect when he started this interview, but a domestic mess was not it. "Would you have been persuaded enough to try and eliminate Carl from the picture so that Janice wouldn't have to worry about a divorce?" he asked.

Norman was taken aback. "You think I would kill Carl? The man may have been a lousy husband and God only knows what else, but Janice Duncan is not worth killing a man over. Don't tell her I said that though. I mean, she's…I didn't kill anyone. I liked Carl. He was very devoted to his work and the kids he helped. This shelter he was building was for runaways and other kids with nowhere to go. The project will suffer now that he's gone; I know because I invested in it myself. Killing him would mean throwing away half a million dollars of my own money. I'd rather he had lived to be two hundred than lose that kind of investment."

Mike let out a sigh. "Do you drink tea, Mr. Jennison?"

Norman gave him a confused look. "Well, no actually. I much prefer coffee. Janice is the tea drinker. She buys some imported stuff from China. It costs a fortune, but she claims it keeps her looking young."

Steve rolled his eyes.

Mike stood up and, thanking Norman for coming in, showed the man to the door. Steve wandered out into the squadroom after Mike. "Was that a waste of time, or…"

"No, not necessarily," Mike said. "I don't think he had anything to do with Carl's death - he's much too concerned with money - but Janice Duncan still may have. Divorcing him may have cost her, but if he died, she'd likely cash in on a large life insurance policy. We should also find out about this Dr. Caldwell. It may lead nowhere, but we don't know until we try. We also need to find out who has access to this...whatever it was called. Would someone like Janice Duncan be able to get her hands on it?"

"Care to pile anything more on me or is that enough?" Steve teased.

"That's enough for now." He smiled at his partner. "Start with the lab; ask them where to get that chemical or who'd have access."

Steve headed to his desk, and Mike headed back to his office.

* * *

Amy took a deep breath and crawled out from underneath Mike's desk. She grabbed a tissue from her purse and tried to wipe the teary mess off her face. She threw the tissue in the garbage and sat down in Mike's chair.

"Okay, now this is stupid. You know you didn't kill him, and Steve knows you didn't kill him...so get it together." She took another deep breath and looked at the pad of paper. She looked around and saw a pen, and grabbing it, started writing down what she could remember about the day she went shopping. The day was sketchy, but she hoped if she wrote some things down, other things would come to her.

"Going to the store...why did I go to the store instead of the maid that day?" she thought out loud. "Because...it was raining. No, that was a few weeks ago. Because...she was busy with something for Janice? No, that was only to buy cleaning supplies. Because….she was sick? That's it, she was sick. She had that terrible headache and begged me to go to the store for her because Janice just had to have maraschino cherries and cocktail onions for her party that night. Yeah, and that party was the night before Carl died."

Amy wrote all that on the paper in a hurry before she forgot it. "Okay, I bought cherries and onions and some other stuff on the list." She closed her eyes, trying to picture the list in her mind. "Tea was written at the bottom in Carl's handwriting. Yeah, so I knew it was the kind of tea he liked and Janice didn't." She wrote more.

"Okay, so I'm walking around the store trying to find the damn cocktail onions. I have no idea where those things are and Jasmine is driving me crazy begging for candy bars." She snapped her fingers. "Jasmine was with me. She was in the brattiest, most annoying mood. Wouldn't take no for an answer, and I was not about to let her buy anything." Amy furiously wrote all this down, feeling like the floodgates holding her memory back were finally opening.

She stood up and started wandering around the office. "Where did I go from there?" She started miming taking things off store shelves. "Cherries, check. Onions, check." Closing her eyes again, she saw more of what was written on the list between cherries and onions and the tea. "Tortilla chips...crackers. Yeah, I stood in the cracker aisle forever just staring at boxes of crackers because Janice didn't put what kind she wanted, and I didn't dare get the wrong ones. Jasmine was constantly bringing me cookies she wanted from the other side of the aisle." Amy paused and wrote all this down.

She closed her eyes again. "Nothing else on the list but the tea, so I physically drag Jasmine away from the cookies to the tea aisle. She's putting up a fight. I get to the tea and search the shelves for the one I want. I grab it and put it in the basket. I turn around and Jasmine is running away, so I yell at her to come back. I give her a talking to before leaving the aisle to check out." As she continued to write, she took the uneventful trip back home, not really remembering anything helpful.

* * *

Mike came back into the office after his interview with Norman. He saw Amy sitting at his desk, writing her day out. "Remember anything?" he asked.

Amy shrugged. "I don't know how useful it is. I did remember that it was the day before Carl died though." She handed Mike the tablet.

He began reading all that she had written down so far. Amy stood up and looked out his inside office window, seeing Steve sitting at his desk making the call to the lab. She walked around Mike's desk and over to the door, closing it. She looked at Mike. "Can I ask you something...not related to the case? Well, not completely related...maybe a little…"

Mike, sitting on the corner of his desk, put the notepad down and looked at Amy. "Of course. What's bothering you?"

Amy sat down in the guest chair. "I don't know that it's bothering me...well, yes it is, but then what hasn't bothered me lately? A week ago I thought I was just a jinx that caused people to die. Now suddenly I'm in the middle of a murder, and I have no idea who to trust. My whole life is suddenly upside down. I guess my mind is just desperate for something that will put it right side up again." She turned around and looked back at Steve to make sure he was still busy. "You know him better than I do. Is this...normal?"

Mike had a feeling he knew what she was talking about, but he didn't want to just assume. "This?"

Amy stood up and started pacing the floor. "Steve taking such an interest in a...what am I, a victim or a suspect?"

"You're certainly not a suspect, so I guess that leaves victim."

Amy smiled. "Thanks. Don't think I'm sounding ungrateful or anything, I just...want to know before I get my heart broken...is it guilt? Does he feel so guilty that I got shot that he thinks he owes me or something? I know he feels like he should have done things differently, but...I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and realize he was just being nice and easing his conscious. I got too far into this to take that very well."

Mike knew right then that Steve hadn't come completely clean with Amy about what the two had talked about the day before. He wondered if Steve had mentioned it to her at all. "Sit down."

Amy sat down and started nervously playing with her hair.

"Which would you like, my professional opinion as a detective, or my professional opinion on Steve?"

Amy shrugged. "The one that gives me good news?"

Mike chuckled. "I know he feels like there were things that he could have done different; I think we all go through a period of that kind of thinking after something like that happens. This, though...you...you're different."

"Is that a good thing?" Amy asked, not knowing how to interpret that.

"It is. He worries about you, he's protective of you, he wants to make you happy. I've never seen him quite like that with anyone else, guilt or no guilt."

Amy looked at Mike. "But you're worried about him. You're worried he's in danger because I just seem to attract it. God…" She trailed off, thinking that she could be putting Steve in serious danger just by association. "I could get him killed. What have I done?"

Mike could see she was starting to get lost in her own worry, so he tried to reel her back in. "Actually, I didn't even think of that. You're always in a little danger in this job, so you start to expect it and not think about it from day to day."

"But you are worried."

Steve walked into Mike's office before the man had a chance to answer and saw Amy looking contemplative and worried. "What is going on?" he asked, wondering what he'd missed.

"I'm doing what you asked; I'm trying to remember the day I bought the tea," Amy quickly told him.

"Oh." Steve grabbed the paper pad off the desk and started reading it.

"Where was I?" she said, trying to get her mind off her and Steve and back onto the tea trip. "Oh, I pulled the car into the driveway. Jasmine hopped out and ran into the house. I grabbed the grocery sacks from the back seat and took the stuff to the kitchen. I started taking the groceries out of the bag and putting them away." She paused and got this weird look on her face.

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"I remember taking the tea box out of the sack and noticing it was blue. Carl liked the stuff in the green box. I stood there and swore I grabbed the green box, but Jasmine had been distracting me, so maybe I grabbed the wrong one by mistake. Maybe if I would have grabbed a different one, this wouldn't have happened."

Mike turned to Steve. "Did the lab tell you anything?"

"Yeah. That stuff is not easy to get ahold of. It only has one pharmaceutical application, and that's in a cream used to help severe burns heal. The cream is prescription only and the substance, which is a powder in its pure form, is highly guarded because of this other use."

"Other use? The murdering use?" Mike asked.

"Yep. When a certain amount of this is mixed in a liquid and ingested, it turns extremely toxic in the body. There have been several cases involving this stuff lately, though this is apparently the first in San Francisco."

"Okay, so who could get ahold of enough of this powder to put it in tea bags and somehow get the bags into the Duncan's house?"

"Anyone with access to a pharmacy, or a lab that makes drugs…" Steve said, thinking out loud.

"A pharmacy student," Amy suddenly blurted out.

Both men looked at her. "Well, yeah," Steve uttered.

"Sorry, you just said pharmacy and lab and...Paul is, or was anyway, a pharmacy student at UCSF. I remember him telling me a couple times that he had access to all these volatile chemicals and drugs and...well, anyway, you could look there too. I'm going to go get some fresh air if that's okay." She walked to the door and out of Mike's office.

Steve walked after her. Out in the hallway, he walked up beside her. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

She kept walking. "I, uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just sort of tired and you guys are busy, so I just thought I'd get out of the way for a few minutes."

Putting his arm around her, he walked down the corridor by her side. "I'd ask you if you're okay with the lead you just gave us, but it's obvious you're not."

Amy looked at the floor. "I know I said it, and I know that I said he worries me, but a murderer? What on earth would he gain from killing Carl Duncan?" She looked at Steve, her eyes watery. "He didn't even know the man. It makes absolutely no sense." She paused for a bit. "So then why did I bring it up?"

"I guess something in your subconscious is worried enough to tell me. We may look into him and find nothing. There are a lot of pharmacists and chemists in this city. Some of them may have known Carl and hated him. Janice may have had something to do with it. But…"

"But there's always a possibility that Karen's always been right, that something was off about him and I didn't want to see it."

Steve stopped walking and turned her around to face him. "You did see it. You just didn't know what you saw until now. But hey, let's not jump to any conclusions until we get more evidence than just maybes and might haves. Don't give yourself an ulcer prematurely. Go downstairs, get some air, come back, and we'll go through the journal together. I still have a feeling there's something in there we can use."

Amy pushed the elevator down button. Before it arrived, she turned around and gave Steve a hug. "Someday I hope to look at you without looking through a veil of tears," she told him. She then let go and got on the elevator.

Steve went back to wondering if he'd walked in on something tense between her and Mike.

* * *

"No, you've been very helpful. Thank you," Steve said before hanging up the phone. He walked into Mike's office. "Insurance company is sending over the Duncan's life insurance policy, but I don't think it's going to be much of a motive."

"Why not?" Mike asked.

"In the event of Carl Duncan's death, Janice Duncan receives nothing. His life insurance payout all goes to Dr. Caldwell and the trust the two of them had set up for the shelter he was building. According to the trust, that money can only be used to house, feed, and clothe any child living at the shelter. Carl dies, Janice goes broke basically. I called Norman and asked him about it, and it sounds like she knew and didn't care. I took the mess down to the guys in fraud to see if they could sort it out, but I don't think it's going to be pertinent to our case."

At that moment, Captain Olsen and D.A. O'Brien came into Mike's office. He was surprised to see the two. "Don't tell me the grand jury hearing is over already," he told them.

Olsen closed the door. "Mike, Steve, I wanted to make sure you two knew the news before it hit the media." He had a very serious look on his face, as did O'Brien.

"What happened?" Mike asked, concerned.

O'Brien started to explain. "Milani has been causing a ruckus ever since he was brought downstairs. Other inmates have been complaining left and right. Well, sometime last night he got the bright idea to try and kill himself in his cell. All he really managed to do was gash his head open pretty good. Guards found him this morning bleeding, so they transported him to the ward at General. As he was getting out of the ambulance, he was shot and killed. This all happened before I even entered the courtroom this morning."

Both Steve and Mike's jaws dropped. "Shot outside the hospital?" Mike asked in disbelief.

Olsen nodded. "Looks like from a sniper from one of the surrounding buildings. We've got men crawling all over that area looking for evidence. From what I've been told, it was definitely not a shot within close range."

"It was a hit? Who would have known he was going to even be there?" Steve asked.

"Don't know yet. Hopefully that will be answered once we find the shooter," Olsen said.

Mike started to get up like he was going out to investigate, but Olsen stopped him. "Mike, we have enough guys out there right now. I don't want either one of you on this case. You've done enough on the Milani case already."

While Mike tried to argue with his superior, Amy came back into the squadroom. She saw the four men in Mike's office behind the closed door, so she sat down at Steve's desk. She thought she could read some more of the journal while she waited, but she soon realized that it was still in Mike's office, so she sat and tried to watch what was going on without anyone seeing her being snoopy. Olsen and O'Brien had their backs to her, but she could sort of see Mike and Steve. Mike was arguing with Olsen, and Amy wondered what had gotten him so riled up. She tried reading lips, but couldn't make anything out.

While Mike tried to get in on the case, Steve's mind went somewhere else. It started adding things up. Milani's death was no accident, and Carl Duncan's was turning out not to be one either. Those two, along with all the other "accidents" that Steve had not gotten a chance to look into, had one common denominator - Amy. Coincidence, at that moment, flew out the window.

"What if our case is connected to this?" Steve interrupted.

"How so?" Olsen asked.

Steve turned and looked out the closed door. He saw Amy sitting at his desk. "Milani's last victim." He quickly grabbed the journal, opened the door, and left the office.

Amy could tell right away that something had happened while she was gone. "What's going on?" she asked Steve.

"Let's go for a walk," was all he said. He grabbed his jacket and Amy followed him out to the hallway.

Olsen asked Mike what Steve was even talking about. Not really knowing himself, Mike was left to come up with an explanation that would hopefully not only make sense, but also prompt his superior to allow the two to join the case.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Monday, April 22, 1974**_

All the way to the first floor and out of the building, Steve held on to Amy's hand tightly. When they got outside, Steve led her toward the back of the building and away from people as much as he could. He chose a spot behind a tree.

"What the hell is going on, Steve? You've got me worried sick," she told him once they'd stopped walking.

He took a deep breath. "I have something I need to tell you, and I know exactly how you're going to react, so I want to be the one to tell you this before you find out some other way."

Amy swallowed hard. "Who's dead?"

"What makes you think…"

"Every time someone in the last two years has said something like this to me, it was always followed by the name of a person who just died. Don't tell me this is different."

Steve looked at the ground. "It's not. It's Milani."

Amy stared at him. "The man that held me hostage? He's dead?"

Steve nodded, trying to figure out her reaction so he could be ahead of it.

"How?" she asked.

"He was shot this morning."

"Hmm." Amy let go of Steve's hand and started wandering around the green space. "I wonder how I managed to pull this one off. I had contact with the guy for what, an hour? My jinx powers are getting awfully strong all of a sudden! Maybe the larger the crime, the worse the accident?"

"Amy, this was no accident. Whoever shot Milani was aiming right for him. There was no, 'Oops, my gun went off and the bullet just happened to hit him' going on here. You had absolutely nothing to do with this, and I know that for a fact because you were with me all morning."

"But…" she tried to argue, but Steve quickly cut her off.

"But nothing! All those deaths that you said were your fault were all accidents, right? Except they weren't. This wasn't! Carl's death wasn't! I'm going to go back upstairs and look into all the others you told me about, and I have a feeling I'm going to discover they weren't either! Someone is out there killing people, and we're going to find out why and put them away. But it _wasn't you_."

Amy looked at the ground and then back up at Steve. "Alright, for argument's sake, let's say you're right. Something sinister is going on here. But I'm still involved. I knew every single one of those people and now they've all been murdered. So what, someone is out there killing people to spite me? To frame me? To make me feel like dying myself?" She looked up at the sky. "Guess what?" she shouted. "You're doing a really good job! If you quit now, I'll kill _myself_ to save humanity!"

That last line bothered Steve immensely. He walked over to Amy and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Don't you _ever_ say that again, not even as a joke." He felt like he was now on the verge of tears. The thought of her committing suicide scared the hell out of him because he knew she had the mindset to try.

"Who's joking? Think about it, Steve. Everyone around me is dying because...I don't know why. So am I eventually going to end up all alone? Everyone I've ever known and loved is going to be dead. But I guess I'll just sit around and wonder who's going to be next until everyone is gone, and then I can finally join them. Who will it be? Karen? You?" Tears ran down Amy's face.

"I'm not going anywhere. What reason would someone have to kill me anyway?"

"What reason did any of them have to die?" she asked quietly. "If they really want to get to me, they'll get to you next. And that means there's only one thing I can do."

"What?" Steve asked, worried she was going to do something drastic.

Shrugging, she muttered, "Leave California. Get as far away from here and everyone as I can."

"Leave? What good is that going to do?" Steve asked, almost outraged that she would do such a thing.

"Save your life?! If I'm not around, this...person...won't have any reason to want you dead."

"No one has a reason to want me dead now! I've been around you for a week and have never felt like I was in any danger even once, so I highly doubt I ever will be."

"Then why is your partner so worried about it?"

Steve looked at her as if she suddenly started speaking a foreign language. "Mike? Worried about my safety? What are you talking about?"

"He didn't come right out and say it, but I can tell that he's worried about you being with me. He was trying to be nice and spare my feelings by telling me he didn't even think about you getting hurt around me, but I could see it written on his face; he's afraid you're going to end up dead just like everyone else," Amy said through tears. "I couldn't live with that...with myself...if I let that happen."

Steve ran his hands from her shoulders down to her hands. "You are not letting anything bad happen to me...unless you leave. Then I'll be pretty upset, and yes, it would be your fault. So you have to stay, even if it's just to selfishly make me happy."

Amy just shook her head. "I can't. I can't take that chance. I couldn't live through having to bury you." She took her hands out of Steve's and started backing away. She turned around and started to walk away from him.

Steve tried to grab at her but missed; she was walking away too quickly. "But you can live with just leaving and never coming back?" he shouted after her. "Because I can't! I won't stand here and just let you walk away without a fight."

Amy stopped walking but did not turn around. "At least you'll still be alive! Besides, you'll get over it. Guys like you always do."

Steve had no idea what to say; he was entirely too hurt. "Guys like me?" He paused before getting angry and saying, "Yeah, you're right. I'll just get over you like you were never here. Amy who?" He forced out a laugh and looked off in the distance. "Oh look, there's a woman over there. Maybe I'll just go see what she's doing tonight. Damn, this moving on thing is so easy."

Amy wanted to collapse into a ball and cry until she passed out - his words stung even though she sensed the sarcasm behind them - but she instead turned around and looked at Steve. "It's only been a week...and I'm not worth it."

Steve walked up to her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not worth it. Maybe all I'd be doing is setting myself up for the worst relationship I've ever been in. I mean, you are pretty high maintenance, what with all this damn baggage you carry around. And the constant crying. God, is that annoying! I think you're right; I think you _should_ leave, because I would hate to die because of you."

Amy bit her bottom lip and tried to keep breathing.

"That's what you're thinking, isn't it? That's the person you think you are, right?" Steve said, softening his tone.

"Because it's true…" she whispered until Steve cut her off.

"It is not! I don't care if I've only known you a week or a month or your whole life! You are nothing like that! I don't know who the hell ever convinced you otherwise, but I'll go kill them myself for hurting you so badly." He took her face in his hands. "I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you in that cemetery, looking a lot like you do now. I watched you standing there, miserable and alone, and all I could think about was making you happy. Half the reason I feel so guilty about how Milani's arrest went down is because I was preoccupied with you and not with the case. There, I finally said it. I feel like I'm responsible for your getting shot because I was desperate to talk to you before you left the cemetery and I never saw you again."

Amy's mind, in a state of turmoil, promptly misinterpreted Steve's sentiment. "I do that a lot - make people do bad things, like murder. This is why I need to leave. If I'm not around, you won't accidentally get yourself killed on account of me."

Steve took his hands off her face, turned around, and walked away. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Is that what you want? I thought we had something here, but maybe I've gotten bad at reading women. Fine. If you want to walk away and be miserable, and I know you will be, then go ahead. But know that I'll be just as miserable as you and won't care if I do die."

"God no, I don't want to leave, but I see no other…"

Before she could finish her sentence, Steve grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her with a desperation he'd never felt before. His unconscious mind had decided that day at the cemetery that he needed this girl in his life and at this moment, his conscious mind realized it too. He could not let her walk away without trying everything he could to make her stay. He hadn't intended their first kiss to be like this: not in this situation, not with this much sadness, not with so much at stake, but while he kissed her, he couldn't help but think it was nothing short of perfect. She was in pain, he was in pain, and now together, they were taking each other's pain away.

Amy, completely blindsided by Steve's reaction, didn't fight back. Instead, she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself melt in his arms. All the pain and misery she'd felt in the last few minutes and days disappeared as if Steve had just blinked his eyes and made it go away with nothing more than the power of love. It was a feeling she didn't want to disappear. It was calmness.

The deeply passionate kiss seemed to linger forever, with neither one anxious to be the one to pull away from the other. The feel of their skin against each other's was comforting. The salty taste of the tears they'd shed told each just what this display of affection was for: love. No one cries over someone they don't love...and they don't leave either.

Eventually, Steve was the first to withdraw from the embrace. "If you still want to leave...go ahead," Steve told Amy before fully pulling his lips away from hers.

Amy, her eyes still closed, felt faint. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. "I don't think I can now," she said breathlessly.

Steve wrapped himself around her and laid his head on hers. "Good. Don't threaten to again or I'll have to resort to more drastic measures."

Amy laughed a nervous, excited giggle of a teenager who'd just gotten kissed for the first time by the boy she'd had a crush on for years. "Now you're going to make me want to run away every day." She rolled her eyes, thinking what she'd just said sounded stupid.

Steve picked up his head and looked at her. "And I'll stop you every time. Are we okay now?"

Amy nodded and brushed a tear away from Steve's eye with her fingers. "This is going to be over soon, isn't it? Trading in thinking that I cause people to die for having someone out there that's killing people I know is a shitty trade off."

"Trust me, if I could make it all go away in an instant, I would. You're pretty when you're frowning, but you're prettier when you smile."

That made Amy smile. "Thanks, but you're not giving yourself much credit. You've already taken some away." Then she winked at him.

This time he laughed. "I do have that effect on women."

"Women?"

"Ooo, jealousy. I like it."

Amy stuck her tongue out at him and wiped some of her own stray tears off her face.

"Well, if we want to make this hell go away, I better get back to work. I'm sure Mike thinks I fell in a black hole by now."

"Can I go back to worrying about you losing your job?" Amy asked jokingly.

Steve just gave her a look that said don't start with that again. "I'll tell you what." He pulled out of their embrace and got his car keys out of one jacket pocket and Jasmine's journal out of another. He handed both items to Amy. "Take my car and go home. Read the journal or take a nap or, whatever. I'll come by after work."

Amy looked down at the keys. "You're letting me drive your Porsche?"

"Yeah, why not? Or, you're not going to get into that whole, 'It's too fancy for me to touch' thing again, are you? Honey, it's just a car. I trust you."

Amy nervously chuckled again, this time because he'd called her 'Honey'. "You've never even seen me drive. I could be the worst driver in the world. I could not have a license."

"Well I know that's a lie. I saw your license."

Amy looked at him, wondering how since she'd never shown it to him.

"I looked you up once. It's one of the perks of being a cop."

Amy scrunched her nose up at him. "Thanks a lot. Now you know how much I told the DMV I weigh."

Steve smiled. "There's that levity I knew you had in you. Go home and rest, please? Get all the thoughts of leaving or dying out of your head. I'll see you tonight." He leaned over and kissed her again before turning to walk away.

Amy called out after him. "Is it wrong to be happy in a miserable situation?" she asked.

He turned back to her. "I think it's our whole relationship."

* * *

Steve stormed into the squadroom and made a beeline for his desk. He grabbed some paper and began furiously writing on several pieces. Once he was done, he went into Mike's office and started spreading the sheets across his desk.

Mike was on the phone telling someone on the other end that he expected to be updated every time something new developed in the sniper case. He hung up and looked down at Steve's project. "What is this?"

"Each paper has the name of someone who died and how. These people all have one thing in common - Amy. She knew them all and somehow, their deaths are on her."

Mike looked at Steve in disbelief. "You don't think she…"

Steve shook his head. "That's not what I meant." He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out the picture of Paul and the girls that he'd taken from Amy's apartment. He threw it down in the middle of the desk. "This guy. He's my main suspect. I think he's killing these people to somehow get at Amy."

Mike looked at the picture. "Who is he?"

"Paul Carpenter. He's a childhood friend of Amy's. Mike, the guy gives off creepy vibes. You should have seen the look he gave me when I first met him. It was like he hated me just for being in her apartment. He's way overprotective of her and has this unnatural hatred of the police. Fortunately, Amy told him I was just a college friend so he doesn't know I'm one of 'them'."

"The guy Amy mentioned was a pharmacy student? You think this guy had motive to kill all these people?" Mike asked with doubt in his voice.

"I don't know the motives yet, but I have a feeling something is there."

"And the means? You can't tell me that guy is a sniper _and_ a pharmacist."

"I didn't say it was a perfect theory, but he's the best suspect I've got right now. If something else presents itself, fine, but I'm pursuing this guy."

Mike took in what Steve said. "Okay, go with it. See if this guy had access to the mexa...whatever it is first, then figure out motives and alibis. Right now, I'm going to head down to the hospital and see what is going on. Those guys need a fire lit under them."

"Olsen let you in on it?" Steve asked.

"Benefit of outranking most people involved."

"Want me to come with?"

Mike shook his head. "No, you've got plenty to keep you busy there," he said, pointing to the mess Steve had made on his desk. "Besides, you're a little close to this, so I'm going to keep you out of it as much as I can."

Steve was prepared to argue, but he understood exactly what Mike meant. If there were prying eyes around, Steve was not involved, but if not, it was still his case. "Fair enough."

Mike grabbed his coat and hat and walked out the door.

Steve stood and stared at his pile. He then looked at the picture of Paul. To find motives, he'd have to get into this guy's head, a thought that actually frightened him a bit. Unfortunately, to do this, he'd have to ask Amy about him since she was the expert in this instance, and he wasn't quite sure how to approach that conversation. He thought for a second and then picked up the phone and made reservations at a fancy restaurant. The stress would be eased with a little wine and romantic atmosphere.

* * *

Tanner walked into the squadroom with a box. He walked over to Steve's desk. "Hey, Keller, I sure hope this mess is yours. It doesn't have a name on it, and no one else claims it." He set the box on the desk.

Steve looked at it. "Where's it from?"

"Thousand Oaks PD. Ring any bells?"

Steve nodded. "That's mine. Thanks."

Tanner walked away and Steve cut his way into his delivery. Inside were copies of all the files the Thousand Oaks Police had on Glen Johnson's death. He'd requested the stuff the week before in case it became necessary, and now he was glad he did. If he was going to get to the bottom of this case, he might as well start with the first murder. Maybe finding out the motive would open up the rest of the case.

Steve sat down and started combing through the paperwork. Notes from the paramedics, the hospital, and the medical examiner did not really yield anything he didn't already know. Amy'd told him that the autopsy indicated that her father had hit his head somewhere, but there was no real indication of where. The medical examiner suggested a flat surface as opposed to a blunt object or something with a corner. Steve tried to think of places a person could hit their head without anyone knowing. He thought of a fall and hitting the ground, or somehow hitting a wall. He looked through all the paperwork, but nothing gave any indication as to where the man had been or what he'd been doing. Amy had already said she and her mother didn't know, so who would?

Steve started looking through the papers for a phone number. He found one of Glen's business cards on the bottom of the box and dialed the number. If anyone knew of a man's affairs, it was his secretary.

"Good afternoon, Johnson, Arnold, &amp; Romano. How may I direct your call?" a pleasant female voice said on the other end of the line.

"I need to speak with Glen Johnson's secretary, if she's still around," Steve said.

The receptionist transferred his call to an older lady, who also answered pleasantly. Steve told her who he was and the reason for his call.

"I am so glad someone is paying attention in this world!" the lady told him.

"I beg your pardon?" Steve had no idea what she was talking about.

"I had this feeling that there was something more than just a simple accident going on here. Call it women's intuition, but I just knew it. The police down here wouldn't listen though. They kept telling me there was no evidence, but how would they know if they never looked or listened to me? I may have a few gray hairs on my head, but I am certainly not senile."

Steve laughed. This was going to be an interesting conversation. "Well, I'm listening, so if you have something you think is important, I'd love it if you told me."

"Glen was not some klutz who was always running into doors like the police here tried to tell me. No, something had to have made him hit his head hard enough to do that kind of damage."

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to hurt him? Did he have any enemies?"

"Glen? Heavens no! Even though he was a lawyer, people loved him. You probably know that feeling, Inspector."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

"There was one incident a couple days before Glen died. I'm not sure if it has anything to do with his death, though."

"Tell me anyway," Steve told the lady.

"Well, around five, a friend of his daughter Amy's came into the office. You know, his daughter lives up there in San Francisco. Glen was so proud of her wanting to try something new by moving out of LA. Her mother, not so much. Lots of stress there, especially after Amy decided to leave despite her father's passing. Glen would have wanted her to go. Have you met her? She's a sweet girl."

Steve smiled and bit his bottom lip. "Yeah, we've met."

"She's everything I said she is, isn't she?"

"Yes, yes she is." Steve would have been annoyed by this woman going off on a tangent if they weren't talking about how wonderful the woman he loved was.

"So the guy comes in and wants to talk to Glen. I was getting ready to go home for the weekend, but Glen never leaves at five, so I tell him Paul is here to see him."

Steve cringed. "Paul?"

"Yes, Paul Carpenter. His family lives next door to the Johnsons and have for years. He and Amy were friends. I'll be honest - I never understood that friendship, but Amy was nice to everyone and they were neighbors. Anyway, Glen never liked the young man for some reason. I don't think he trusted him around Amy. I don't know why; he seemed like an okay man, just a little odd."

"Glen didn't like Paul?" Steve asked for clarification.

"No, he really didn't. I actually think that was one reason he was happy that Amy wanted to go to school in San Francisco, because she'd get away from Paul. It ended up not working as Paul transferred up there just after Amy did."

"To the U of C, San Francisco?"

"Uh huh. He wanted to be a pharmacist or something. As I was leaving, the two of them were behind closed doors and it sounded like they were arguing. It wasn't loud enough for me to hear, and I had an engagement to get to or I would have listened at the door."

"But you're sure they were arguing?"

"Positive. The doors in this office are pretty thick, so you can't normally hear anything at my desk when Glen's door is closed. I could hear voices, just not what they were saying."

Steve thought for a second then asked the lady if she could do him a favor. "I want you to, when you get a chance, go into his office and look around for any clue of a struggle that Glen might have left behind. Anything that looks like he might have hit his head on it. I realize it's been a couple years…"

"Not a problem, Inspector. The office is still unoccupied."

"Oh, good. Perhaps there's something you could find that everyone else missed. Dried blood, damage to furniture...anything out of place."

"I'll try. Glen was a very neat person. If something had been knocked over, he surely would have picked it up before leaving."

"Well, for my sake, I hope he missed something. If you do find something, or even if you don't, call me back and let me know," Steve told the secretary before giving her his phone number and hanging up. He stood up and walked into Mike's office, where he'd left the papers of the casualties. He picked up the one that said 'Glen Johnson.' On the bottom, he wrote, Motive: Did not like Paul. Opportunity: Was at office days before death. Then he sighed. Tonight's conversation was going to be even harder than he thought.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Monday, April 22, 1974**_

The whole way home, all Amy could think about were two things: the kiss and the fact that she hadn't driven a stick shift in years and was afraid she'd either get the Porsche stuck in the middle of the street, or she'd grind the gears so badly that she'd owe Steve a transmission. Both were making her a bundle of nerves, for good and bad. On one hand, she felt like jumping up and down and telling everyone she saw just how in love she was. All the nervous energy was making it impossible to sit still and she just wanted to tell the world how she felt. On the other hand, the negative part of her mind was trying to convince her that she couldn't do anything to screw this up. It was telling her that this new relationship was still not solid. It was merely hanging by a thread and one wrong move would cause Steve to leave. Wrecking a car would be one such move. In a trip that normally would take 15 minutes, Amy managed to double that just to get from the station to home, but she got the car there in one piece.

Gingerly, she got out of the car, still feeling it was too nice for her to be touching. She then headed out of the underground garage and up to the lobby of her apartment building. Instead of walking up the stairs, she kind of danced up them, still full of excited energy. When she got to her front door, she stood there for a bit, trying to wipe the smile off her face in case Karen was home. Deciding she would be okay, she unlocked the door and walked in. Karen was sitting at the dining room table doing homework.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Why?" Amy asked, a tad paranoid.

"Because your car was downstairs, but you were gone."

"Oh. I was at the police station with Steve. He came by this morning, so he just took me."

"How did you get home?"

"Steve's Porsche," she said, dangling the keys in front of Karen before setting them on the table.

Karen said nothing.

"What?" Amy asked her, uncomfortable with her cousin staring at her.

"Two things. One, Steve drives a Porsche?"

"That's what I said."

"Wow. The best car any guy I've ever dated drove was a '73 Monte Carlo, and your guy drives a Porsche."

"He also has a job that requires more than skills with a fryer."

"Touchè. Second, Steve let you drive his Porsche?"

"Yes! He told me I could take his car so that I didn't have to stay around there all day. I'm a good driver, you know."

Karen looked at her like she was expecting more. "Why are you grinning like an idiot?"

Amy was startled by the question. "What? I'm not grinning like an idiot!" she said quickly.

"Speed talking. Grinning stupidly. Bad case of nerves…"

"Well, you try driving a car that you can't drive on San Francisco streets and see how calm you are! I haven't driven a stick since I was 15, and it's not exactly like riding a bicycle." It wasn't a lie, but it was only a quarter of the reason she was nervous. She then yawned. "Are you going to be here the rest of the day?" she asked Karen.

"Actually, yeah. My afternoon class got cancelled, and I have the afternoon off from work. I was going to head back to Berkeley later for a party, but…"

"No, that's fine. If anyone calls for me, unless it's Steve, don't tell them I'm here. You don't know where I am, you don't know when I'll be back. Okay?"

"Uh, sure. Is everything okay?" Karen asked, worried by Amy's need to hide.

"Yeah, I think so. I don't know, just...I just don't feel like talking to anyone."

Karen nodded and watched Amy retreat into her bedroom. "By the way, congrats."

Amy turned around and looked at Karen. "For what?"

"The tale the smudged lipstick tells." Karen grinned and went on doing her homework.

Amy quickly turned around and ran her right index finger along her bottom lip. She should have checked in the rearview mirror first.

* * *

Awhile after lunch, Karen, who had been trying to catch up on reading, decided she'd bored herself enough for one afternoon, so she turned on the TV to catch _All My Children_. Two minutes into the show, the local news team interrupted with a breaking news bulletin.

Karen groaned. She almost changed the channel until she saw it was something involving the police. That piqued her interest, so she stuck around. She wasn't sure if she was glad she did or not after hearing the news. It was an update on the shooting outside San Francisco General that killed accused murderer Nick Milani. Authorities were still looking for a possible sniper, but they were confident the area was safe for regular travel.

She couldn't believe what she'd heard. She sat staring at the TV with a shocked expression on her face throughout the entire bulletin. That is how Amy found her after waking up from a restless nap.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked her cousin.

Karen looked up from the TV. "That guy that kidnapped you was shot?" she asked in astonishment.

Amy just nodded.

"Weird. I mean, it's justice and yay to whoever did it, but what the hell?"

Amy shrugged. "Steve didn't tell me much. I don't know if he's even involved in that. He just told me the guy got shot."

Karen looked over at Amy, who has taken a seat on the couch. "You should look more relieved."

"Yeah, I suppose I should. There's a lot more at stake here though."

"Like what?" Karen asked.

"I don't know, there just is." Amy didn't want to mention a thing about someone out there killing people that were connected to her, especially if Paul was somehow involved.

Karen wasn't quite sure what to say to that, but soon the news went off and _All My Children_ came back on, so Karen chose to give that her attention instead. At a commercial, she turned around to say something to Amy but found her asleep on the couch.

Late in the afternoon, Karen came out of her bedroom dressed to go to her party. The phone rang and Amy barely stirred, so Karen grabbed it in her room. "Hello?" she answered.

"Oh, hi," a voice said, annoyed. "Can I talk to Amy?"

"_Oh, hi_, to you too, Paul," Karen said snidely. "I don't know, are you physically able to talk?"

"Why are you such a bitch all the time?" he asked Karen.

"Because I despise you. You _may_ not talk to Amy anyway."

"Why not? You can't stop me from…"

"She's not here, dumbass. Kind of hard to talk to her if she's not here, isn't it? Sheesh!"

"Well where is she?" Paul asked with a worried tone in his voice.

"I don't know. Out? She was here when I left for school, wasn't when I got back."

Amy stirred and opened her eyes slightly at the sound of Karen talking to someone.

"Why don't you know where she is? She could have been kidnapped or be dead in an alley somewhere and you wouldn't know! Something bad is going to happen to her because of idiots like you," Paul lashed out at her.

"Maybe she took a long walk off a short pier or hopped a slow boat to China. She's a grown woman, and I am not keeping tabs on her like she's a child," Karen snapped back.

Amy got up and walked to Karen's room, where she stood at the door and listened to the conversation.

"Are you hiding something from me? You'd do that just to spite me. Is she with that jerk from Berkeley?"

Karen clenched her teeth. "Funny, but some people, like lawyers, work during the day. Plus, he went back to Sacramento. And no, Amy is not in Sacramento."

Paul didn't say anything for a bit. He then asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"

"Despite my disgust for you, yes, I am actually telling you the truth. She's not here, he's not here, I'm certain they're not together."

"Okay. Well, I'll try calling back later, but in the meantime, tell her I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"What happened this morning. I shouldn't say sorry, because I'm glad her nightmare is over, but sorry she had to live through it one more day. Tell her I'll call back, okay?"

Karen suddenly felt creeped out. She hung up the phone without saying a word.

Amy, still standing quietly at the door, said, "You lie so well it's scary."

Karen looked at her. "You know what else is scary?"

"Was that Paul?"

Karen nodded. "He wants to tell you he's sorry for what happened this morning. He's glad your nightmare is over. Oh, and that you're not with that jerk from Berkeley."

Amy shivered.

"What the hell is he talking about?"

Amy shrugged. "He probably saw the news just like you did. People probably assume that because the guy who kidnapped us is dead, I'll be...whatever I haven't been lately. Honestly, it didn't bother me that much," she lied.

"Yeah, and he's sure the one to put someone at ease. Why doesn't he just move to Siberia?" Karen walked out of her bedroom and, on her way to retrieve her purse from the living room, the doorbell rang. "Are you expecting someone?" she turned and asked Amy.

Amy shook her head no, but made no move to get the door.

Karen looked through the peephole and then unlocked the door. She saw a delivery man standing there. He announced he had a delivery for an Amy Johnson.

Amy, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans with her hair looking like it was slept on, came to the door. "I'm Amy," she told the guy, confused. She looked around the hallway. "I don't see anything."

"There was too much to carry up, so I thought I'd come get your signature first," the guy told her.

"Too much? What did you bring?" Karen asked.

"Flowers."

Amy and Karen looked at each other. "Too many flowers to bring up?" Karen asked.

Amy perked up a little, thinking they might be from Steve. Karen wasn't so sure, so when Amy attempted to sign the delivery form, Karen stopped her.

"Can we see this delivery before we sign for it?" she asked the man,

He shrugged and told them to follow. The three went downstairs and out to the street where the man had his delivery van double parked. He opened the back where the girls saw bouquet after bouquet of flowers lining the walls and the floor.

"Which one is mine?" Amy asked.

"Which one isn't?" the guy answered back.

The girls looked quizzically at him. "You mean every flower in this van is hers? That's ridiculous!" Karen said.

"You must be mistaken," Amy said, unease in her voice. Even if Steve had sent these, she wasn't going to be happy about it.

"Nope. The whole delivery is yours," the guy said.

Karen hopped into the van and started looking at the bouquets. "Is there a card? Who the hell sent this?"

"I don't know, lady. I just bring 'em."

Amy stood and watched Karen go through every bouquet in the van. She crossed her arms over her chest as a cold shiver went through her body. Suddenly she felt as if it were winter and she was ill-dressed.

"I think I found something," Karen said after a while. She dug through the paper wrapping and pulled out a small card. Unfolding it, she read it to herself for what seemed like ages.

"Well?" Amy asked impatiently. She was tired of standing in the street feeling like everyone was watching her. She looked around and saw no one staring, but she felt like they were when she wasn't looking.

Karen was about to say something, but then she saw another card. "There's another one in here." She promptly pulled that card out then got to wondering if there were any more. If there were two, there may be three. It turned out she was right. Before her search was over, she'd found a total of fifteen cards in the over thirty bouquets. She got out of the truck and looked at the driver.

"Send them all back," she said sternly.

The guy looked at her like she was nuts. "You want me to take them all back? But they were already paid for."

"So? We're refusing delivery. Take them back."

"My boss ain't gonna like this," the man mumbled.

"Tell him to call me then and I'll tell him I told you to take them back. Hell, tell him I told you to throw them in the Bay for all I care. I'll tell him the same thing." Karen grabbed Amy's arm and led her back toward their apartment building. She left the delivery man standing by his van, baffled.

Once inside, Amy, who had a bad feeling about the flowers, asked Karen what was going on.

Karen started looking through the cards. "Hold on. I have to separate them by theme."

"Theme?" Amy asked, following her roommate up the stairs.

"Yeah. There seems to be a couple themes to these cards. I'll show you when we get upstairs."

Once the girls got to their apartment, Karen walked over to the dining room table and laid all fifteen cards out. She then started grouping them together into two different piles. Amy watched in bewilderment. _What could possibly be written on these cards?_ she wondered. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

Once Karen was done, she picked up one stack and held them up to Amy. "This group of cards, seven in all, contain the musings and thoughts of several people who are rolling in their graves at the thought of Paul Carpenter using their words to evoke a response from you. Emily Bronte, Emma Lazarus, I apologize that your great works have been used for such a sick purpose."

"Forgive me for sleeping through poetry class, but what?" Amy asked.

Karen took one card and read the poem written on it.

_There should be no despair for you_

_While nightly stars are burning,_

_While evening pours its silent dew_

_And sunshine gilds the morning._

_There should be no despair - though tears_

_May flow down like a river:_

_Are not the best beloved of years_

_Around your heart forever? _

_They weep - you weep - it must be so;_

_Winds sigh as you are sighing,_

_And Winter sheds his grief in snow_

_Where Autumn's leaves are lying:_

_Yet these revive, and from their fate_

_Your fate cannot be parted,_

_Then journey on, if not elate,_

_Still, never broken-hearted! _

"'Sympathy' by Emily Bronte. All these cards are sympathy poems. Well, except this last one, which is clearly written in his own words. Basically it's just telling you how bad he feels for you and doesn't think it's fair for such a sweet girl to be suffering through all this pain and anguish. He wants you to know that he's here for you and wants you to take advantage of that. He's sad you haven't so far. Makes me want to puke."

"That makes two of us," Amy replied, shivering again. "What's the other pile, or am I going to be more frightened?"

"Oh this pile?" Karen said, pointing to the other cards still laying on the table. Picking them up, she continued, "This one is the best. Stop me if you've heard these before." Clearing her throat, she started humming as if she were testing her pitch before singing. Then she sang the chorus to "Cherish."

"All apologies to The Association of course. How about this one?" Karen said, switching cards. She then proceeded to sing The Beatles hit "Michelle," only she replaced the name Michelle with the name Amy.

"Guess I should have brushed up on my French first," Karen said.

"Paul McCartney should kill him," Amy said, disgusted. "Don't tell me that pile is a bunch of love songs." She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling even colder.

"But of course! Can't you see he feels so bad for you that he wants to whisk you away to his own little private paradise and take care of you only the way he can?"

Amy had to sit down. Her legs were starting to feel weak, and it felt like she had a huge hole forming in the pit of her stomach.

"You did realize that he's in love with you, didn't you?" Karen asked.

"Of course I did!" Amy snapped. "I thought he knew I wasn't interested in him that way! I thought I'd made it very clear at one time. Damn it!"

"He's too stupid to get the message. Hey, you want to help me burn these? It might make you feel better to see his stolen words burn in effigy. Too bad it can't be him instead."

"No! No, keep them."

"Keep them? What the hell for?"

"Evidence. Evidence that he's dangerous. If Steve and Mike prove that Paul is behind Carl's murder, they might need those as evidence."

Karen looked at the cards like she had no idea how they would help prosecute anyone for anything other than bad taste. "Wait, murder?"

Sighing, Amy told her cousin, "Steve thinks Paul murdered Carl."

"Um...I wouldn't put something like that past him - he's always creeped me out - but why would he kill Carl?"

Amy shrugged. "I don't know, but that's what Steve thinks, and it is his business."

Karen threw the cards she still had in her hands on the table as if they were suddenly on fire. "Then you better tell Steve about this."

"I will when he comes to get his car." She stood up. "I don't feel so good, so I think I'll lie down." She walked into her bedroom without saying another word to Karen.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Any song lyrics contained within are property of their owners. I make no profit off them. :)**_

Steve knocked on Amy's apartment door and waited. No one answered, so he knocked again. Still no one answered. Cop instincts did not tell him she wasn't home - they told him she was in trouble. He knocked louder and called her name. Still nothing. He tried the door knob and found the door unlocked. Opening the door slowly, he listened to see if there was any commotion. The place was dead silent. He came in, ready to shoot if necessary. He looked into the kitchen and living room. Both were empty. He then started cautiously down the hall. First he peered into Karen's room and saw nothing, and then he checked the bathroom and saw the same thing. The only room left was Amy's bedroom.

He listened again and still heard nothing. Very slowly, he peeked in and saw Amy, dressed in a bathrobe with her hair up in a towel, asleep on the bed. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked in. Sitting on the side of the bed, he watched her, wondering if she'd wake up. She seemed completely oblivious to anyone being there, so he leaned over and whispered her name. She didn't even stir.

Steve chuckled. "No wonder she didn't hear the door." He stood up, walked to the other side of the bed, and got on, lying on his stomach next to her. She rustled a little, but did not wake up. "Amyyyyy," he said out loud. Her eyes blinked, but did not open. He took her hand and said her name again. Still nothing. He shook his head. He had never seen someone who was such a sound sleeper. His last attempt at waking her up was to tickle her nose and make her sneeze. That worked.

She sneezed twice and opened her eyes. Then she looked to her right and saw Steve lying there looking at her. She jumped at first. "God, you scared me."

He laughed. "A bulldozer could run over you and you would sleep through it."

"I fell asleep again?" She groaned. "I didn't mean to...but yeah, I'm a pretty heavy sleeper. Did you try waking me up before?"

Steve nodded. "I knocked on the door, called out your name…"

"How'd you get in? Is Karen still here?"

"The door was unlocked."

Amy groaned again. "She left the door unlocked?"

"Hey, don't be so upset. I wouldn't have gotten in otherwise. Unless that's your goal."

She put her right hand on his face. "Not on your life. Did you find something out about the shooting? I kind of figured you'd be working all night."

"No. We managed to gather a list of locals who are known snipers, but I have a feeling it will be a slow process figuring out if any of them are the shooter."

"Oh. Do you have to go back to work then?" Amy asked, disappointed.

"You are, for good or bad, stuck with me for the night. Mike insisted I go home. He said it would be better if I watched after you instead."

"Oh, he did not say that."

"He did! Of course, it could have been because I complained about missing my dinner reservations."

"Dinner reservations? With who?" Amy asked, suspicious and jealous.

Steve played it up. "This very beautiful woman I met the other day. You should see her. Long brown hair, porcelain skin, the most gorgeous blue eyes you've ever seen. Sad eyes though. They don't sparkle like they should. I have hope though; I saw them sparkle this morning."

Amy just lay there, looking up at him, though the tears welling up in her eyes made him blurry.

He leaned in and got in her face. "You do realize I'm talking about you."

She sniffed. "Of course I knew that. Why would you even ask?"

"You had an awfully worried look on your face, like I was talking about some other woman who looked exactly like you." He kissed her. "Like that would even make sense."

"Well…" She rubbed her eyes. "You're talking me out to dinner at a restaurant that requires reservations?"

"Would you rather I take you to McDonald's on a first 'official' date? I'm trying to impress you here, not run you off."

Amy smiled. "Well, when you put it that way. I could eat; I haven't eaten since this morning. I guess I should have had more than that cinnamon roll after all."

"And half my crêpe. Maybe I shouldn't take you out to eat after all. You'll eat half my food. You're not a very cheap date if I have to order two meals."

Amy just looked at him, wondering if he was teasing out not. He started laughing, so she smiled.

He then kissed her again and told her she should probably get dressed - the reservations were in an hour. Amy leapt off the bed, grabbed something from the closet, and quickly ran into the bathroom. Steve flipped over and lay on his back. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. It had been a long, emotional day and he was afraid the stress of the whole thing was just beginning. Soon enough, he too was asleep.

Half an hour later, Amy came out of the bathroom dressed and made up. She was wearing a mint green mid-length cocktail dress, with chiffon sleeves, a scoop neck, and a tie belt at the waist. A string of small pearls and some white heels completed the outfit. It was nothing too fancy, but nicer than anything Steve had ever seen her in. Dressing up helped her mood slightly as well.

She looked over and saw Steve asleep. She smiled and walked over to the bed. For a minute, she just stood and looked at him, thinking about how adorable he looked. Then she did just what he did to her - she tickled his nose. He didn't sneeze, but he did wake up swatting at her hand.

He opened his eyes and saw Amy laughing. "Very funny," he muttered.

"Turnaround is fair play, right?

He sat up. "Guess I was tired too. Well, don't you look beautiful," Steve said, looking at her and smiling.

Amy giggled nervously. "I don't know about beautiful."

Steve stood up. "Well, I do; I'm an expert." He kissed her gently on this lips. "It is okay to take a compliment."

She smiled shyly. "I know, I just...never mind. I'm hungry and since I don't know where we're going, we better leave so we're not late." She turned around and walked out of the bedroom.

Steve wanted to ask her what she was not saying, but he figured it was something emotionally-charged and now was not the time for her to get all weepy, so he just followed her out of the room.

Amy walked by the dining room table and saw the cards still laying there. She picked them up and contemplated looking through them, but quickly decided she just couldn't do it, so she threw them back on the table.

"What are those?" Steve asked her.

"Oh, just the cards that came with the flowers," she said quietly, hoping he would just drop it even though she knew she should tell him everything.

"Flowers? What flowers?"

She picked the cards back up and handed them to Steve. "The cards that came with the flowers Paul sent me today. It's customary for him to send me flowers after a death, only this time he went overboard."

Steve started looking through them. "That creep sent you flowers? Because Milani died?"

Amy nodded. "He sent me a van full of flowers, telling me how sorry he was but that I should be better now, especially if I lean on him for comfort. Karen made the guy take all the flowers back, but we kept the cards. Well, I made her keep the cards. They're evidence...of something, probably." Amy watched Steve read the cards, trying to tell what he was thinking.

He just shook his head. "He just better stay the hell away from you. Sick bastard." He then put the cards in his jacket.

"What are you going to do with them?" Amy asked.

"Tomorrow I will take them to work and see if Mike or I can read between the lines. If this guy's up to something, it might be in here."

"In a bad love poem?"

"It's worth a shot if it nails this guy. You ready?"

Amy nodded, grabbed her purse, and followed Steve out the door.

* * *

Steve pulled his car into a parking space behind the restaurant. As Amy got out and walked around the car to Steve's side, she kept looking around.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just being paranoid. The whole way here, I felt like we were being followed."

Steve took her hand as they walked toward the restaurant. "I don't think so. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

Amy smiled. "And women don't like dating a cop? What's not to like about having a bodyguard around all the time?"

"Maybe they just don't realize the true benefits we come with."

"Their loss, my gain." As they continued walking, Amy kept looking around, scared someone was watching and hoping it wasn't Paul. The last thing she needed was for Paul to see her with Steve.

They walked into the restaurant and after seeing just the foyer, Amy felt very guilty and uneasy about being there. The place was exquisitely decorated, the hardwood floors were shiny and clean, and the staff wore suits and ties. There were no places to sit and wait as no one came in off the street to try for a table. It was the kind of restaurant where a person could spend five dollars just for a glass of water.

Amy always hated making people spend large amounts of money on her, especially for food. She thought twenty dollars for one meal was outrageous, especially when it was often too much food or full of things she didn't like to eat, as she was a rather picky eater. This place was going to serve that kind of food, and Amy hated making Steve pay for that.

She continued to look around while Steve told the hostess, who was dressed more like she was ready for the red carpet, his name. She was glad she'd decided to wear the fanciest dress she had, though it looked far too casual compared to the hostess. She wasn't one who kept fancy dresses around for she had no place to wear them. Working in the social work field was far from glamorous and did not lend itself to elegance. She also wasn't the most social person in the world, so no going to fancy dinner parties. The fanciest dress she'd ever owned was her prom dress, and that was rotting away in her bedroom closet in LA. A feeling that this night was going to be one full of her being self-conscious came over her. She tightened her grip on Steve's hand as she tried to dispel the negative feelings.

The hostess led the two to their table, which was a small round booth. Steve slid in one side and Amy slid in the other. The hostess handed them menus and wished them a good meal. Instead of opening the menu right away, Amy just kept looking around at the other patrons. Anyone else looking at Amy wouldn't say she was out of place in comparison, but in her mind, she was. The ladies were all dressed more nicely and were overall better looking. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide, but she didn't want Steve to know how apprehensive she felt, so she took a deep breath and tried to block out everything but him.

She picked up the menu and looked around at the offerings. Besides her astonishment at the prices, she found she also didn't know what half the ingredients in the dishes were. Should she order the cheapest thing? The most normal-sounding dish?

"Have you been here before?" she suddenly asked Steve.

Steve took a drink of the water that a waiter had brought while Amy was lost in her own mind. "Yeah, a couple times."

Looking around again, she noticed most of the other patrons were couples - no families, no businessmen, just men and women on dates. "I suppose this is a good first date kind of place for you."

Steve gave her a puzzled look. "I hope so."

"You don't know?" Amy asked, confused. "I guess I figured you'd brought all your dates here. So what's good?"

Steve just looked at her. "Actually, you're the first woman I've ever brought here, in case you were implying something else."

Amy shrugged it off. "No, just a statement."

"The salmon."

"Hmm?"

"You asked what was good. If you like salmon, it's good. Steaks are good too." He said nothing for a moment while Amy looked back down at her menu, though he could tell she was only looking at it, not reading it. "Why'd you bring that up?"

"Because I need meal suggestions," Amy said without looking up from the menu.

"Not that. Fishing for how many dates I've brought here. Why would you even want to know that?"

She still didn't look up. "I was just trying to make small talk. It was just an observation."

"What is it with women, always comparing themselves to each other? Why do they do that? Why are _you_ doing that?"

Still looking down, she said, "I'm not! It was just something to say!"

Steve grabbed her face and turned it to face him. "No, 'The weather sure was nice today' is just something to say. 'How many women have you dated?' is not." He sat and looked at her, though she quickly turned her head away and started looking around the room again.

He tried to see what she was looking at in an effort to get into her mind. From his perspective, she seemed to be looking at the people, mainly the women, and then comparing herself to them. She'd look at a table, then look down at herself, either at her dress or shoes. She'd try fixing her hair or tousling it around in an attempted up-do. Apparently none of that satisfied her though, because she'd pout afterwards like she was disappointed that she didn't measure up.

He noticed her staring at a blonde woman who was sitting across the room in a booth just like theirs. "What is so fascinating about her?" Steve asked her.

She jumped, as he had startled her out of a trance. "What?"

"That woman over there," he said, pointing at the blonde. "You keep looking at her. Do you know her?"

Amy shook her head. "Do you think she's pretty? Maybe I should have worn my hair up like that instead of down. I should have put more jewelry on, but I don't own anything that isn't cheap. I should…"

Steve cut her off. "You should stop looking at other women and comparing yourself to them! It's like you're purposely trying to make yourself feel bad. It's a bad habit, and I'm not exactly sure why it's coming out now. Was it because of the flowers?" Even though he hadn't read the cards thoroughly, he was worried they'd scared or worried her somehow.

Without looking at him, Amy simply said, "I just feel out of place. Everyone here is so much...more than me."

"Oh, they are not. You see that guy your 'friend' is with?"

Amy looked at the man eating dinner with the blonde. Amy thought he was distinguished, but average looking. To her, he exuded arrogance more than anything else. "Yeah. What about him?"

"Well, if your friend was so captivating and beautiful, he'd be looking at her instead of that woman over there," Steve said, pointing to another well-dressed blonde sitting at a table in the middle of the room. "He's spent more time drooling over her than his own date."

Amy looked at the other blonde. "Her dress is ugly and that hair is Miss Clairol."

"Yet you'd rather be her than you? I guess I could switch places with that guy and you could sit here with a guy who spends the whole date looking at someone else."

"You wouldn't rather be with someone who looked like those women? Someone who doesn't attract obsessive weirdos and feel self-conscious at fancy restaurants?"

Steve scooted a little closer to Amy. "The more I hear about this guy, the more I want to kill him. No, I'm quite thrilled with who I brought, thank you very much. Now if you'd rather be with someone else…"

"No!" Amy blurted out. "No...I just...I haven't been in a place this fancy since prom night, and that night was awful. Maybe my subconscious remembered that. Plus, I can't seem to shake that feeling that people are staring at me."

Steve put his arm around Amy's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. Just then the waiter came over and took their orders. When he left, Amy asked Steve why he put up with her roller coaster emotions.

"Because you're cute, why else?" he said, tongue-in-cheek, then laughed at her reaction, which was befuddlement. "You do know that everyone's prom was really bad in retrospect?"

"Oh, but mine was worse than that."

The waiter brought Amy a glass of white wine while Steve pulled the flower cards out of his pocket. "You didn't go with this jerk, did you?"

Amy nearly choked on her wine. "God no. I went with the only boy…" She quickly truncated the rest of the sentence.

Steve looked at her. "The only boy what?"

She sighed. "The only boyfriend I ever had. There, now you know what kind of loser you fell for - one who has had one boyfriend in her entire life. I guess there were other interested parties, but either I wasn't interested," she said, pointing to the cards Steve was holding to indicate she was speaking mainly of Paul, "or they lost interest as quickly as they gained it. After a few times of that, you start wondering if you're a jinx or toxic or something. I never figured out what was wrong with me."

"That's hard when there isn't anything. Personally, I'm glad those other guys gave up; that way I didn't have to fight anyone."

Amy put her head on Steve's shoulder. "You think I'm worth fighting for?"

"To Hell and back, lady."

"You're weird, Steve Keller."

"I think it's all the other people in your life who are weird." He turned his head and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "Speaking of…" he said, turning back to the cards.

"I didn't really read any of them. Karen read a couple to me. He found some sympathy poems and some song lyrics and decided they'd make me…"

"Fall in love with him as he saves you from a life of misery." Steve handed her a card that contained the lyrics to part of "It Takes Two" by Marvin Gaye and Kim Weston.

She read the card out loud. "One can have a broken heart living in misery. Two can really ease the pain like a perfect remedy. It takes two, baby. Just me and you. You know it takes two." She dropped the card. "Ewww. I used to like some of these songs, too." She looked at the cards as Steve read them but didn't read them herself. She figured they were all alike - nothing but pleas Amy was not going to answer.

After a while, she asked Steve if he saw anything in between the lines.

"Are cards like this something he did every time?"

"No, not really. It used to just be a simple bouquet with a card that just said he was sorry. Or a phone call. I got those too. This…this is new."

"So something has made him escalate to this."

Amy wasn't sure what he was talking about. "Escalate? What do you mean?"

"It's like something has happened in his life recently that has made him suddenly feel the need to protect you from...everything? It seems like he feels he's the only one who can save you from some tragedy or danger."

"Well, I'm sure he didn't take my getting shot too well, especially since he was certain it was completely a cop error. He never really took dangers I faced very well, even if they were imagined. At times his reactions were almost scarier than the so-called danger I was in."

"Oh?" Steve asked, curious. "Any examples?"

Amy grabbed a breadstick that was in a basket on the table and chewed on it while she thought. Then her eyes got very wide. "I haven't thought about this for years, but it just came to me. When we were, I don't know, 12, maybe 13, this new couple moved in across the street. They had a dog they never put on a leash. That mutt would run all over the neighborhood. To most people, it was fine because the dog seemed to like them, but me? This dog hated me. It didn't help that I already had a huge fear of dogs. This thing would bark at me every time I'd walk to or from school. I started asking Paul to walk with me just because I thought maybe the dog would leave me alone. One day it lunged at me. I didn't get hurt, just scraped a little, but Paul was furious. I mean, homicidal furious. A couple days later, the dog was found with its throat slashed in its owner's front yard. The police never figured out who did it. I didn't say anything to the investigators because I had no proof, but I always feared Paul did it because the dog attacked me. That's the kind of thanks I got for standing up to the kids who bullied him; he became my unwanted personal bodyguard."

"So you protected him, and then he did the same for you? He seemed to take it very seriously. He also seems to have quite a temper." Steve stared off into space, thinking.

"What are you thinking?" Amy asked.

"I called your dad's secretary this afternoon."

"Mildred?" Amy smiled. "I always liked her. I'm glad she's still there. I was worried she'd quit or get kicked out once Dad was gone."

"She spoke highly of you too. She also told me something interesting...and I probably shouldn't be telling you."

"I won't say anything, cross my heart. Not to Paul, or your boss, or anyone. Swear."

Steve sighed. "What day did your dad die on?"

"Sunday."

"Well, the Friday before, Paul came and saw your dad around closing time."

Amy was surprised. "What? Why? Dad hated Paul and I'm sure the feeling was mutual. Dad could never understand why I was nice to someone like Paul. Dad didn't trust him at all."

"She didn't know, but she said she thought they were arguing."

"Now that I believe."

"I asked her look for evidence of a fight, but later I remembered that it was two years ago and any evidence is likely long gone."

"Not necessarily. You just didn't realize you knew my mother when you made that request. My dad's office has been locked and untouched since he died. The house is the same way. They're both time capsules to 1971. Mom went to Dad's office, looked around, and then left, locking the door behind her and not allowing anyone to enter or exit the place ever since. If there's some kind of evidence in that office, it's probably still there."

"Wow. Maybe I'll get lucky then."

Amy suddenly got very quiet. The waiter luckily chose that opportunity to bring their dinners. Amy slowly picked up her fork and moved her rice around.

Steve snuck a carrot off her plate.

"Hey!"

"Got your attention. What's bothering you?" he asked as he ate the carrot.

"What makes you think something is bothering me?"

"I'm psychic. Out with it."

She sighed. "If my dad and Paul were arguing, it was probably about me. I'm the only reason they even talked. So if Paul did kill my father, then it's my fault, right?"

"Wrong. You know, you're cute, but you have the craziest way of thinking," Steve told her as he stole another carrot off her plate. "It's only your fault if you caused him to hit his head. You didn't cause the injury, so it's not your fault."

"My mom won't see it that way."

"We'll just have to make her change her mind then, though I doubt a mother would blame her daughter for something like this."

"Yeah, well, maybe you don't know my mother after all," she said sadly as she stole a piece of squash off Steve's plate.


	19. Chapter 19

Steve and Amy decided then that the rest of the dinner conversation was going to be about anything but the case. They'd talked enough about that. It also helped Amy stop noticing everyone around her and just enjoy being in Steve's company.

As the two walked out of the restaurant arm in arm, Amy was laughing at a dumb joke Steve had just told her.

"You must really like me if you laugh at that joke," Steve told her.

"Darn, you noticed," Amy teased. She felt truly at ease for the first time that day.

"What do you want to do now?" Steve asked.

"Can we just walk for a while? It's a nice night, and I haven't really gotten out to just see the city."

"Your wish is my command," Steve said, and the two started strolling down the street. He noticed as they were walking that Amy wasn't turning around and looking over her shoulder anymore. "You still feel like people are watching or following you?"

She shook her head. "No. Guess I was just kind of stressed out about the events of the day, but you made me feel better."

"Good, because I don't want you threatening to run away from home again. I'm too tired to chase after you."

"Do you have to chase after people a lot with your job? I can't imagine killers just surrender every time they're caught."

"Occasionally. It's not the greatest part of the job, but it's better than the endless paperwork. That's just tedious."

Amy chuckled. "They never show that part of the job on TV. You told me you'd been shot once. That doesn't happen a lot either, does it?"

"Let me put it this way: you'll worry more about me getting a papercut or stuck in traffic than you'll have to worry about me getting shot."

She smiled. "I get to worry about you? I guess it's about time I do some worrying in this relationship."

"I hope you worry about me! And yeah, spread the wealth here a little," he teased. "Although how long you worry remains to be seen."

"What?" Amy asked. Then she realized what he was talking about. "Oh, back to the women who don't date cops thing. Well, let's look at it this way. The way the world is today, we could walk out of our houses and get run over by a drunk driver, or be shot in a bank robbery, or die from some infection that's going around. More people die from accidents than being killed by someone else. Take what you just told me about Mike for instance. I bet his wife worried about him plenty, yet who buried who? You could more likely be burying me because I got run over by some crazy driver. Seriously though, should I avoid all human contact because I'll spend my whole life worrying that my husband will die from something some day? I don't do so well being alone, so I guess I'll take my chances. Anyone who thinks differently, well, I hope they enjoy their misery."

Steve stopped walking and took Amy in his arms. "You know," he said, looking in her eyes, "I think we're going to be very good together."

Amy smiled, but then said, "I think so too, as long as I don't disappoint you."

"How could you possibly do that?" Steve asked.

"You know my penchant to say dumb things and go a little crazy."

"Never noticed," Steve said facetiously. "Seriously though, I remember something I read in one of my psychology classes. During times of high stress, the stress will manifest itself in many different ways. With you, it makes you untrusting, self-conscious, full of self-hate. The one thing I'm most looking forward to when this whole mess is over is seeing the real you - the one who smiles when she wakes up in the morning, has fun, and is just, happy. I know she's in there. Not that I don't love the Amy I'm looking at now, but I know I'll love the other one even more."

"You really believe there's a happier me in here somewhere? I don't think my mother even thinks that."

"I don't think, I know."

Amy kissed him. "You'll be surprised though when I wake up and don't smile. I am not a morning person. At all."

They started walking again. "Guess I'll have to change that then, won't I?" he said, with a certain suggestive tone in his voice.

"Oh, good luck with that!" Amy said, suggesting no one could turn her into a happy person in the morning.

"Is that a challenge? I generally win challenges."

"Uh huh, sure." Amy didn't say anything more, but she did blush a little.

The couple walked a little more until they walked in front of a cocktail lounge. Live music was sneaking out the cracks in the entrance door, and Amy cringed at what she heard. She stopped dead and stood there, listening to someone singing a Rolling Stones song off-key.

"Oh, that's horrible," she said.

"What is?" Steve asked.

"That singing. I hope this bar didn't hire that person."

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. It sounds okay to me. Not professional maybe, but not as bad as you say."

"It's off-key, and that song is clearly not appropriate for that man's voice."

Steve took her hand and started pulling her toward the door. "Why don't we find out what's going on then? Maybe it's bad singers night, and we can throw tomatoes at the stage."

Amy laughed but didn't follow. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to spend my night listening to a terrible cover band."

"So, drink some cocktails and just have fun with how awful the whole thing is."

"I suppose, but…"

"Amy Johnson, you're going to have fun if it kills you."

"Kills may not be the best word to use here, Steve," Amy cautioned as she gave in and walked through the door he was holding open for her.

They walked into the establishment and were greeted by dark wood-paneled walls and similarly-colored vinyl bar chairs. The curved bar was to the left and several tables were in front of them. Against the far wall was the stage, where a man was still warbling through "Let's Spend the Night Together."

"I hope he's not using that as a suggestion to his girlfriend," Amy told Steve. "She should run if it is."

Steve laughed and motioned for her to follow him up to the stage. A crowd was standing in front on the dance floor. A few people were sitting at the bar, but most of the patrons were standing in front of the stage. Steve managed to drag Amy to the front of the crowd where they reluctantly watched a long-haired chunky guy in a western-style beige shirt and baby blue flared pants.

"His fashion sense is as good as his singing," Amy said loud enough that the red-headed girl standing next to her laughed.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks that!" she shouted back at Amy.

Amy just nodded and went back to watching the horror on the stage. The man finally ended the song and took a bow. Amy barely clapped and the girl acknowledged and shared her lack of enthusiasm.

"That was the worst one yet," the lady said.

"Oh? What is this, bad band night?" Steve asked the girl.

"Amateur night. Anyone can get up and sing with the band. Happens every Monday night. We come here just to see how bad it can get," she said, pointing back to the man who had his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, and every Monday night she complains how terrible everyone is," her date said, taking a drink from a bottle of beer.

"That was terrible though. I don't think he could have found the key if it bit him in the ass," Amy said.

The girl laughed. "You're right!" She turned to the stage. "Oh, here comes another one!" She turned back to Amy. "I'm Cynthia and killjoy here is Roger."

"Nice to meet you," Amy said, shaking Cynthia's hand. "I'm Amy and this is Steve."

"Your first time here?" Cynthia asked her.

Amy nodded. "He dragged me in here after I commented on how bad the singing was. Said it would be fun." She rolled her eyes.

"And it will be if you stop critiquing everyone," Steve said jokingly.

"It'll never happen," Roger said. "I've told her to loosen up, but miss professional singer here has an opinion on everything."

"Are you really a professional?" Amy asked Cynthia.

"No, but compared to them, I am," she said, pointing to the stage. "I sang in school."

"So did I!" Amy said excitedly.

"You did?" Steve asked.

Amy nodded. "High school and college."

"Shhhh. Your next victim is about to perform," Roger told the girls.

Everyone turned toward the stage as a short lady with a hairstyle leftover from the 1960's took the microphone in her hands and started singing Judy Collins' folk hit "Both Sides Now." Although according to Amy and Cynthia, she screeched more than sang. Throughout the entire song, both women traded barbs at the expense of the lady on stage.

When she was finished, Steve looked at both girls and said, "If you ladies think you can do so much better, maybe you two should get on that stage and prove it."

Roger loved the idea. "Yeah. It's about time someone else stood out here and said how terrible you two are."

"I am NOT terrible," Cynthia said very matter-of-factly.

"Prove it, babe," Roger told her.

Cynthia turned to Amy. "What do you say? Should we show these jerks or not?"

Amy stood in stunned silence. She didn't have stage fright per-se, but she hadn't sung in front of an audience in over two years. "I don't know if…"

Steve leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Go wow them. You'll have fun."

"I'll do it if you do it," Cynthia said.

Amy still wasn't sure, but she knew she was better than the two people she'd seen so far. Plus, it was her boyfriend who'd made the suggestion and chickening out wouldn't look good. "Okay, I'll do it."

Cynthia dragged Amy up to the stage where they talked with the band about what song they'd sing.

Steve laughed and shook his head at the same time. "I really didn't think she'd do it."

"I'm glad she did so Cindy would get up there. Every time she drags me here, I tell her she should sing if she's so good. Never does. This is going to be priceless. Buy you a beer?" Roger asked Steve.

Steve agreed and the two went back to the bar. Soon they came back and saw the girls finally ready to perform. Cynthia announced that they had been dared up on stage by their boyfriends and that they were going to duet on Martha &amp; the Vandellas' hit "Dancing in the Street."

Even though Amy had been on stage many times, she was very nervous. She was sure she knew the words as she'd sung this song once for a high school talent show, but what if she forgot in the middle? What if her voice gave out on her? She hadn't exactly used it for this purpose lately. And all these people were staring at her. Sure, they clapped for everyone regardless of talent, but with her luck, she'd be the one they booed.

The music started and almost like magic, Amy came alive. She started singing and the fun of the lyrics took over. Soon she was totally into it, holding nothing back. She and Cynthia were dancing and as she looked out at the audience, they were as well. They whole place came alive along with her.

When they were done, they were met with a loud roar of cheers. Amy suddenly felt almost embarrassed, but she bowed and hopped off the stage.

She walked over to Steve, who was clapping. "And you didn't think this would be fun! You can't tell me you didn't have fun up there."

Amy's face turned red. "Maybe a little."

"See, we are good!" Cynthia shouted. She then hit Roger in the arm. "You didn't think I could do it."

"I still don't think you can do it alone."

Someone in the audience started shouting 'encore' and got others to join in.

"Is that so?" She took off toward the stage, hopped up, and after conferring with the band, started another song, this time alone.

Steve stood behind Amy and had her wrapped up in his arms. The two of them watched as Cynthia did her best Petula Clark impression with "I Know a Place."

"You're better than her," Steve whispered in Amy's ear.

"You're just saying that."

"No, it's true. You outsang her. She's good, but you're better."

"That's coming from ten years of vocal lessons. I better be good after all the money my parents spent."

When Cynthia was done, she had to be pushed off the stage. "I think the fame has gone to her head," Amy told Steve.

Someone in the audience then suggested Amy get up there solo. Steve coaxed her into it, so she went up on stage, but she wasn't sure what to sing. Asking the crowd for suggestions, someone said "A Dusty Springfield song." Amy suddenly knew the perfect one for how she was feeling at the moment. She asked the audience to be her backup singers, then cleared her throat and started in on "I Only Want to be With You." She knew the lyrics fit her and Steve to a T, but because of that, she tried not looking at him. If he didn't feel the same way, she'd be mortified. When she was done, she smiled, having enjoyed doing a solo and happy that she wasn't nervous - about performing anyway.

After she got off the stage, someone announced that the band would be taking a break and they would be switching to prerecorded music. Cynthia came running over to Amy before Amy could get to Steve.

"I have to admit, I'm a little jealous. You're very good."

Amy shyly thanked her and complimented her right back. Cynthia and Roger then went off in another direction.

"I hope that sounded sincere," Amy told Steve.

"As long as she thought so." He then looked at her, smiled, and asked if she cared to dance. The band had started playing a slow melody and several couples were taking to the dance floor.

She laughed. "As long as I don't have to literally fall into your arms. I'd probably fall out of your arms and break something."

As they began to dance, Steve suggested that be their song. "It just fits. You _have_ had a hold on me ever since we met."

"And that's certainly crazy," Amy told him.

"Sometimes you have to be a little crazy to find happiness you didn't know existed."

Amy smiled and the two danced silently for a while, simply enjoying the music, the calmness of the situation, and each other.

When the song ended, Amy decided she was thirsty, so the two walked over to the bar and Amy ordered a strawberry daiquiri. Then they chose a table toward the side wall away from the main crowd. Once they sat down, Steve asked her why she didn't sing anymore.

She shrugged. "Maybe because it was always my mom's dream, not mine. She's an actress, professionally I guess. She has an agent and everything, but it's not like you can see her in the latest film coming out. What she does is mostly commercials, a couple that were even national, and local plays. One year she did land a role in a touring company production of...something. I don't remember; I tried to block it out. She left her not-old-enough-to-stay-by-herself daughter home so she could go play make believe. I guess it's made me bitter." She took a long drink of her daiquiri. "I think she wanted me to follow in her footsteps, or she wanted to live vicariously through me. I wasn't interested either way."

"Sounds like maybe your relationship with your mother isn't that strong," Steve said.

"Eh, it's okay. Well, it was okay until Dad died and I wouldn't stay in LA to take care of her. The last two years have been rocky, but I think she's coming around to accepting that I want to go into social work and stay in San Francisco."

"I hope so, for your sake," Steve told her, rubbing her back as a sign of caring.

"Thanks for pushing me up there, though. Made me get out of my shell for a while." She took another drink and then excused herself to use the ladies' room.

"You okay?" Steve asked, thinking maybe bringing up her mother opened a wound.

"Yeah, fine, I just actually have to go, honest."

"Just don't go sneaking out the window on me."

Amy stood up. "Does that even happen? I've never even seen a window in a restroom."

Steve shrugged. "I don't spend a lot of time in the ladies' room."

Amy stuck her tongue out and walked off. She entered the ladies' room and the first thing she noticed was a window high up on the wall by the sinks.

"Well, I'll be damned," she muttered as she chose a stall. A minute later she came out and on her way to a sink, looked at the window again. She couldn't figure out how anyone could sneak out of it without being some kind of acrobat. Quickly, she washed her hands but as she shut the water off, she suddenly felt a weird sensation coming from over by the window. She turned and jumped when she saw something looking at her. Then she scolded herself when she realized it was only a bird perched on the windowsill. She was letting her imagination get the best of her again.

She quickly finished up and left the ladies' room. Deciding it was time to leave, she went back out to the lounge and asked Steve if it was okay if they just went home. He agreed and the two left. On the walk back to the car, Amy started looking around again. By this time it was dark and there seemed to be a shadow lurking around every corner.

"You're doing it again," Steve said.

"Doing what?"

"Looking around like someone is following you." He looked over his shoulder in both directions and saw nothing amiss. "No one is following us. What got you thinking this again?"

"A bird in the window of the bathroom. For a split second, I thought it was someone watching me. Now I can't shake it."

"Speaking of shaking, you are." He stopped walking and put his jacket around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said meekly.

"Do you think Paul would actually follow you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know anything anymore. I never thought he'd kill anyone either and it sure seems like he did. If he's capable of that, he's capable of scaring the hell out of me."

"You know, I think we both need a good night's sleep," Steve suggested as he led Amy back to his car. This time as they walked, he also looked over his shoulder.


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N at the end...**_

Steve pulled his Porsche up to the sidewalk in front of Amy's building. "Are you sure you'll be okay tonight?"

Amy nodded. "If I go to bed, I won't keep thinking about Paul or being followed or whatever else my messed up mind is creating. I'll lock all my doors and windows so even I can't get out."

"Please do lock your front door this time," Steve said through a yawn.

"Looks like you should go home and go to bed too."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am pretty tired. But listen, I still don't care if it's three in the morning - if something happens, call me. I can be here in five minutes."

"I will. I'll sleep with the phone next to my bed. Creeps have to sleep sometime too I hope."

"I assume they are technically human, though I've always had my doubts."

"Don't worry about me, okay. It'll just keep you awake all night, and you need your sleep so you can figure out this mystery and put it behind us." Amy leaned over and hugged Steve. "Thank you for, well, a hundred things. Putting up with me, humoring me, protecting me, keeping me sane...loving me. I appreciate it more than I'll ever be able to tell you. I feel like I used to before everyone started dying on me. No, actually I feel better. And it's all your fault."

"I take full responsibility then," Steve said. They kissed each other. "I love you."

Amy smiled. "I love you too. Sleep well." She pulled on the door handle and got out of the car. "Call me tomorrow if Mildred calls you back."

"I'll call you anyway."

Amy waved goodbye and ran into her building. Steve waited until she she disappeared from his view and then drove home.

* * *

After changing into a white, sleeveless, knee-length nightgown, washing off her makeup, and brushing her teeth, Amy crawled into bed and tried to get comfortable. She figured she's drift right to sleep after the day she'd had, but she was wide awake. The three naps she took must have helped meet her sleep quota, and now she couldn't keep her eyes shut.

Finding it too frustrating to lay there and force herself to sleep, she got up, turned on the light, and decided she should read some more of Jasmine's journal. It would either help lull her to sleep, or she'd learn something. For over an hour, Amy read about everything in Jasmine's life - the friends she spied on at school, the social events she eavesdropped on, the phone calls she overheard at home. It seemed that the girl spent more time listening in on and watching other people's lives than she spent living her own.

Nothing was helpful or particularly interesting until Amy got toward the end. There, she started reading about a phone conversation Jasmine overheard. The best Amy could make of the entry was that it was between Carl and a lady, and it sounded heavy. She didn't blame Carl for having something going on the side; she never understood why someone as nice as Carl was married to a person as horrible as Janice. What she disliked was the fact that some of what she was reading was said within earshot of a six year old. Amy was sure Jasmine had no idea what it meant as she had trouble deciphering the words the girl wrote anyway, but just the thought made her stomach turn with anger.

She read on, hoping that Jasmine might have heard the name of this mystery woman. If she could give this person a name, maybe Steve and Mike could look into her as a possible motive or killer. Amy really didn't really know what to make of the whole sordid affair, but she was open to any possibility at this point.

After a few more entries about the trials and tribulations of kindergarten, Jasmine listened in on another conversation between Carl and this woman. This one was more of the same phone hanky panky, but this time Jasmine got a name: Mitzi. Amy tried to think where she'd heard that name before. It wasn't the most common of names, but she swore she knew someone named Mitzi. Her brain seemed fried, so she got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of tea. After making it, she came back to her bedroom still not knowing where she'd heard the name.

Amy decided to approach this a different way than just simply hoping her brain would pull the name randomly out of her internal Rolodex. Since this was related to Carl somehow, she thought maybe it was someone from school. No one else who worked in the social work department was named Mitzi. She was pretty sure she didn't have any classes or work with a Mitzi, so maybe it was one of Carl's undergrad students. That thought didn't sit well with Amy either. She couldn't believe he'd be having an affair with any student, let alone one that was only in her early 20s at most. Despite only having a six year old child, Carl and Janice were in their mid-40s.

In the last few days, everything that Amy had known to be true, innocent, and honest was turning out to be false, corrupt, and a lie. She sat and stared at the journal, but wasn't reading the words. Instead she got lost in her own mind again, trying to make sense of knowing that perhaps Carl wasn't the great guy she thought he was. Then she told herself to stop assuming things without enough facts. After all, this new development was in the journal of a six year old, one she herself had said wasn't 100% accurate with what she heard.

She pushed on with her reading. Maybe something else Jasmine heard would spark her memory of Mitzi. She started skimming pages just to see if she saw the name Mitzi mentioned again. There was one more entry toward the end. It was dated a week before Carl died. This time, Mitzi must have been in Carl's office with him instead of on the phone. Jasmine described Mitzi as a short blonde wearing a lot of black stuff on her eyes and brown shoes that were so high she kept falling off them as she walked around the office. The description sparked something in Amy's memory, but not enough to remember exactly who this girl was.

Further reading revealed that Carl and Mitzi were talking about a job working with young single mothers and their babies at a residency center called Bright Horizons. Jasmine wrote that she recognized the name because Amy had mentioned it before. In reality, it was a job that Carl had told Amy she was perfect for and that she had really hoped to get. That discussion had started over two months ago, and despite her reminders, Carl never seemed to follow up on it as quickly as Amy would have liked. As the entry went on, she found out the cause of the delay.

Carl and Mitzi sat in his home office talking about the job. Carl told Mitzi he was able to get her an interview with the lady in charge of the center and that Mitzi shouldn't worry; with his recommendation, she'll be hired on the spot. Mitzi then asked Carl if Amy was also getting an interview. Carl laughed and told her no, especially since Carl didn't even mention Amy to the head of the center. He then went on to praise Mitzi and say that Amy, even with her better degree, was never good at the job.

Amy couldn't read any more. She felt like someone just stabbed her repeatedly. This man, who she honestly believed was her mentor and cheerleader, was doing nothing but sabotaging her efforts to make a career for herself. He lied to her face for months and kept her in a job that was a thankless joke, all the while giving his help and advice to someone who was apparently willing to put out for it. She slammed the journal on the bed in anger. Of all the horrible things she'd endured in the past twenty-four hours, this was easily the worst. For a second, she wished she could resurrect Carl just so she could tell him what a piece of trash he really was. She was angry he was dead, that she was betrayed, and that she'd wasted so much time on what she thought was a good start. Not even trying to fight the tears she knew were coming, she lay on her bed and cried until she was too tired to keep going.

A thought came across to her. _Things happen for a reason_. Any time something bad happened and she couldn't understand why she'd be subjected to it, someone seemed to tell her this. She'd always found it to be worthless advice; she wanted sympathy, not a lesson in philosophy. Now though, it actually seemed to make sense. Whatever the reasons were, and no one seemed to know at that moment, all the hell she'd been through led her to meeting Steve, the one bright spot in her otherwise miserable existence. If Carl hadn't done what he did, maybe he wouldn't be dead. With him alive, Amy never would have been in that cemetery when Steve was. Their paths would have never crossed. She would have missed out on the best thing to happen to her, but she still would have been living in the miserable dark about everything. She scolded herself for almost being glad the man was dead, but she had no other way to think of it. If Steve was the consolation prize for her suffering, Amy was glad Carl was dead.

Still, she knew that the way he died must have been terrible and someone needed to pay for it. She had to stop being selfish and get back to finding the culprit. She sat back up in bed and grabbed the journal. She flipped to the back where the most recent entries were. There had to be something in there that implicated someone. This little girl seemed to know way too many things she shouldn't have known - a killer's identity could have easily been one of those things.

Wading through more cocktail parties and pointless phone conversations, Amy suddenly found something on the last few pages. The entry was from the day Carl died. Jasmine started off complaining that Janice wouldn't let her have something or go to someone's birthday party. Then she complained about her dad never being home. Amy understood now why the girl had been in such a foul mood that day. After the rant, the entry skipped ahead to something Amy hoped was useful - the trip to the grocery store.

Jasmine, again complaining, mentioned that Amy wouldn't let her buy candy bars, so once they'd gotten to where the tea was, she snuck behind her nanny's back and grabbed some cookies. Then she mentioned that Amy caught her and gave her a talking to about grabbing things off the shelves without asking and how she needed to act more like a proper young lady in public. What came next caused Amy to almost drop the journal. Jasmine wrote that while Amy was "yelling" at her, a man snuck up behind Amy and put something in her basket before running off.

Her heart started beating rapidly, and she felt sick to her stomach. There it was - the evidence Amy had been looking for. This mystery man must have exchanged the tea Amy originally thought she pulled off the shelf with the tainted stuff. She had no idea how she could have missed not only someone close enough to her to get into her shopping basket, which she remembered setting on the floor next to her, but that same someone exchanging the tea. Half the night she felt like someone was following her, yet when someone actually was behind her, she didn't even notice. Had she been that focused on Jasmine? She wished Jasmine had described the man more, but there was nothing. Still, this was a big piece of the puzzle and Amy knew she'd have to call Steve first thing in the morning and tell him.

She was now a huge bundle of nerves, but knew she needed to try to sleep again if she was going to get up early. Turning off the lamp next to her bed, she snuggled back under the covers and tried to calm down. Her mind was racing, trying desperately to make sense of what it had just learned. She started breathing exercises, hoping it would at least distract her brain momentarily. She had just about calmed down enough when the phone next to her bed rang and scared her. This caused her heart to pick up speed once again. She reached over, turned the lamp back on, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" she answered. For the first few seconds, all she heard was laughing and screaming in the background.

"Hello!" she said again.

"Amyyyy! You still awake? Isn't it past your bedtime, old lady?"

Amy shook her head. It was Karen, and she was clearly drunk. "What do you need?"

"Well, see, there's the thing. I think I need to get home? Maybe. But I don't exactly know where that is."

"Where what is? Your home?" Amy sighed. She hated dealing with drunks. "Where are you now, Karen?"

"Um...California?"

"I figured that. I mean are you in Berkeley or some other town?"

"Well….I don't…" The line went dead.

Amy tried saying hello a few more times, thinking maybe Karen just dropped the phone, but then she heard a dial tone. _Guess she'll have to get herself out of this one_, Amy thought.

She turned the lamp off, lay back down, and tried to close her eyes, but then the phone rang again. Sitting back up, she grabbed the phone without turning the light on again.

"Karen, try to hold on to the phone long enough to tell me where you are," she answered.

"Sorry, wrong number, Sweetheart," the new voice on the other end said.

Amy froze. "Paul. I thought you were Karen," she said quietly, as if her voice froze with the rest of her body.

"Has she gotten herself into trouble again? She's such an irresponsible little brat. I never understood why the two of you even got along. Good thing for her sake that she's not home tonight. I'd like to give her a piece of my mind."

"What for?" Amy asked, her voice shaking.

"For lying to me. She told me lover boy was in Sacramento." He laughed. "Sacramento looks an awful lot like San Francisco."

Amy knew he was referring to Steve after overhearing Karen tell Paul that he was back in Sacramento. "What do you want, Paul?"

"Did you have fun on your date? I was glad to see you singing again; you really should do that more often. I can't imagine how he felt, though, watching his date stand up there and sing a love song to another man."

Amy's stomach was now in knots, and she started to cry from fear. "You followed me on my date?!" she yelled into the phone.

"I had to. See, I need to get into your mind. I need to figure out what it is you see in this guy so that I can destroy it...or emulate it. I guess that depends on you. You like that fancy car he drives? I can get one, although I don't really see the need. I'm confident enough in my masculinity that I don't have to parade it around."

"Shut up!"

"What was that, Darling?"

"SHUT UP!" Amy screamed into the phone. "You have no right following me around! I can go out with anyone I want, and you have no say!"

"Yeah, but do you think it's fair to the guy to lead him on like this? Sure, you go out with him physically, but mentally you're with me. 'I Only Want to be With You' is about me, not him. He should know that before this goes too far. Amy, you do this with every guy you date; you lead him on to heartbreak because you just won't admit you really love me."

"I don't love you," she growled.

"But you do love guys who try to brainwash you and get into your pants? Honey, why do you do this to yourself? It's like you're purposely trying to ruin your own life by falling for guys who use you. Can't you see that I have never used you? I have done nothing but love you for who you are. Stop turning your back on me! Let me take you away from all this heartache. We'll both be much happier."

"I'm happy enough," was all Amy could get out.

"With that Steve guy? Oh please! Has he ever sent you flowers? I send you a whole store full and you go have dinner with him! Can't you see what's wrong with that?" Paul paused. "You know who he reminds me of?"

Amy was trying not to cry hard enough that Paul could hear.

"Oh, come on, guess. I'll give you a hint. Prom date."

"Craig?" Amy asked.

"Ding ding! You remembered. Yeah, this Steve guy is just Craig in a different zip code. He's got everyone fooled into thinking he's this great guy, just because he's handsome, dresses well, and drives a fancy car. But then he gets you alone. You've been put fully under his spell, so he hopes that when he tries to have his way with you, you won't fight back even though you want to. Is prom night coming back to you?"

It was. Paul's narration was following the story just as it had actually gone. Amy started shaking at the memory of the night.

"You think he's the one...until it starts getting a little rough and your pleas for him to stop fall on deaf ears. Ask yourself though, will Paul be around this time when the Bay Area Craig goes to work? You'll be saying, 'I should have just been with Paul all along.'"

Amy felt like throwing up. "You did the same thing to me that Craig did."

"Uh uh. That's where you're confused. What he did was try to rape you. What we did was attempt to make love. There's a big difference there. If Craig's actions hadn't ruined your mindset, it would have happened, too."

Amy tried to gain what little composure she had left. She's tried ever since that night to bury these memories deep in her subconscious, and now that they were coming out when she was already vulnerable, she was on the edge of collapse. "You...raped me."

"Then why didn't you tell anyone? Obviously you didn't tell your mom, because she loves me. What kind of mother would love the man who raped her daughter? And you didn't tell your dad or I'd be the one who was dead instead of him, God rest his weary soul. Do you know why you didn't tell anyone, Amy? Because you don't cry rape when it's with someone you love! Wives don't cry rape with their husbands, girlfriends don't cry rape with their boyfriends...when it's love, it's never rape. That's what told me you loved me, Amy Johnson! So why are you suddenly so reluctant to admit it?"

Amy was so scared that she couldn't answer him.

"All these people in your life...they've ruined you. No matter though; all you need is a reminder, right? Sounds like you could use a little cheering up right now, actually. What do you say I bring over a bottle of wine and we can talk?"

Amy calmed down enough to start thinking more clearly. While still on the phone, she hopped out of her bed. "Uh, maybe that would be a good idea. Just give me time to get dressed and stuff."

"Why bother? Not like you'll be in anything long enough. Dry or sweet? Red or white?"

"Sweet white."

"What the lady wants, the lady gets. See you in a few." Paul hung up.

Amy, shaking, put the receiver back on the base, then quickly and angrily pulled the whole phone out of the wall and threw it on the floor. She then told herself she had to get out of the apartment as quickly as possible. Having no idea where Paul actually was, she couldn't afford to waste a second. She grabbed the journal off the bed, ran out of the bedroom, grabbed a coat from the front closet, and quickly threw it on, putting the journal in an inside pocket. She then frantically hunted for her purse, which she found sitting in the open on the dining room table. Grabbing it, she ran to the door and opened it, but only a crack. She glanced down the hallway in one direction through the small opening. Seeing nothing, she opened the door a little further and stuck her head out just enough to see that the whole corridor was empty. She then stepped out of the door and locked it behind her. Figuring that Paul would come up through the lobby, Amy took off the other way and went down the other set of stairs that led straight to the garage.

Once downstairs, she ran to her car but stopped short of unlocking it. _What if Paul was watching her apartment? What if he were parked out front?_ The only way out of the garage was through the door at the front of the building. She couldn't take the risk of him seeing her leave, so she couldn't drive anywhere. The only other way out of the garage was a door that led to the back of the building. Amy had only seen one person use it in the time she'd lived there. It led to the so-called backyard - a patch of grass that was overgrown with trees and too small to utilize for anything. However, it was her only escape, so off she ran to the back door and outside into the darkness.

_**A/N: **_

_**As to the question about crossovers: I haven't actually thought of writing a crossover, but I wouldn't be opposed to it if I could create a good plot. However, I have never seen BJ and the Bear though I have heard of it. Now there is a story I wouldn't do justice. :p I'd probably be more likely write a crossover with SOSF and Adam-12, since both were set in California and at the same time, plus both are favs (and yes, I have seen more than one episode of SOSF). :p again. :) I do like the suggested premise though!**_


	21. Chapter 21

After getting out of the building, Amy tried to figure out where to go from there. It was dark and she'd never been in the backyard, but she decided to take her chances and run into the trees. She kept running through other backyards and in between buildings until she made it to a street. She recognized it as Filbert Street, the last cross street to the south of her apartment, so she took off down the extremely steep hill until she got to Leavenworth and flatter land. Once at the corner of Filbert and Leavenworth, she took off running up another steep hill until she reached where she was aiming for - Union Street. At the corner of Leavenworth and Union, Amy stopped and took a breath. She had run nearly the entire way, both up and down steep hills, and she was exhausted.

The street was close to deserted, with only a handful of cars driving by at largely-spaced intervals. The apartment buildings were almost completely dark, save for a lit window here and there. There was no one else walking along the sidewalk, so Amy took a good five minutes to regain enough energy to keep going. It was just a little after eleven, so the café on the northeast corner of the intersection was dark. Amy had briefly thought about stopping in there and using a phone, but then realized she couldn't remember Steve's number. She remembered a few of the numbers, but not their correct order. Having it written down at home didn't prompt her to try and commit it to memory, a decision she now regretted. She didn't suppose a call to the operator would work because she figured being a cop, he probably had an unlisted number anyway.

Standing on the corner, she also realized she didn't actually know where he lived either. All she knew was Union Street. Unfortunately, it was a long street that stretched from Golden Gate Park to just west of The Embarcadero, and Amy guessed it to be at least a couple miles, and without an address, she could be walking half the night. She hung her head in defeat. It was then that she noticed her feet were bare. She had been in such a panic to get away from her apartment that she didn't even notice she forgot to put on shoes. So not only was she wandering around the streets of San Francisco in a nightgown, but she was also barefoot. She figured she better stay as normal looking and out of lights as possible or the police would be hauling her to jail for vagrancy.

Along with the realization that she was barefoot came the pain her feet were in. All the adrenaline that had helped her flee had masked the fact that she had clearly stepped on something that scraped up her feet. The light wasn't great, but she lifted up her feet to look at the soles. There were cuts and scrapes everywhere. The dark yards she ran through must have been full of sharp sticks and other objects, plus the pavement itself was not exactly smooth. Despite the pain, she had no choice but to keep going. If she went back home, Paul might already be there. Once he did arrive and find her not there, he'd probably head out looking for her, so she had to keep moving.

Then came the decision. Not knowing which direction from Leavenworth Steve lived, she had to either start walking east or west. She tried in vain to remember if Steve had mentioned anything that would help her determine where he lived, but if he had, she couldn't recall it. She looked to her right, which was west toward the park. Then she looked left, east, which was toward the bay. She figured the walk east was shorter, so hoping she wouldn't have too far to go, she tucked her purse under her coat, turned to her left, and started walking east.

As she walked, she looked at every car parked on the street. One of them had to be Steve's Porsche. She did not want to think about the fact that he might have the car parked in a garage; if she thought about that, she would have given up right where she stood and some poor person would have had to come along and scrape her off the sidewalk.

Though it was easier on her legs, the downhill stretch between Leavenworth and Powell was tough on her feet. She kept scrapping the bottoms and stubbing her toes in the dark. By the time she made it to the bottom, her feet hurt so badly she felt like cutting them off would hurt less. She was also adding the frustration of not having yet seen Steve's car to the pain. She'd only walked half a mile, but it felt more like a hundred. Then she remembered that Washington Square Park was at that corner, so she headed that way for a chance to sit down. She could also survey her situation a little more.

Picking a bench underneath a lamp, Amy sat and winced. She raised her feet up and looked at them again. The cuts had pebbles and dirt in them. In her state of mind, she was certain that her feet would have to be amputated. She tried to carefully get rid of some of the gunk, but that hurt too much, so she gave up and looked around. The park wasn't empty, but it wasn't exactly bustling either. There was a man walking a large dog, a couple a little too heavy into each other, some teenagers who must have snuck out of the house to smoke, and some unsavory types hanging around a bench a ways from Amy's.

She wasn't the least bit comfortable. Even though she'd grown up in a suburb of Los Angeles, which had its share of crime and criminals who chose to conduct their business under the cover of darkness, it was a wealthy suburb and there were many parts to be in that weren't at all frightening. She didn't grow up worrying about people hanging around outside in the dark, or burglars trying to break into her house. She went to bed at night feeling secure. Out in the open, she didn't feel secure at all. She felt very much like the sheltered, scared little girl she was.

Looking around, she set eyes on the café Steve and she ate at just that morning. It seemed like days ago to her, not less than twenty-four hours. So much had happened in that time. Just twelve hours ago, she didn't know Paul was a stalker; she thought he was just an annoyance. She also thought Carl was a good man who was trying to help her get started in life. That turned out to also be a smokescreen. Staring at the café, she tried to make sense of why Paul had changed so drastically and why Carl treated her badly, but there were no answers. Looking into the dark windows of the café, Amy longed to be back there, talking with Steve and being completely oblivious to reality.

Then she started wondering what else in her life might be a lie. Had her mother told her lies? Karen? Steve? She tried shaking those ideas off as ridiculous, but then if she'd been told just two hours before that Carl was a two-faced snake, she wouldn't have believed that either. There didn't seem to be a reason any of them would lie to her, but now she was no longer sure of anything. Suddenly, she felt the need to be reassured that at least one thing in her life wasn't a delusion, so despite her feet still hurting, she stood up, pulled her coat around her tightly, and kept walking toward the reassurance she hoped for.

At the edge of the park, Amy looked at the journey ahead of her. The last seven blocks had been all downhill, but the next few blocks were a steep journey up. She was already tired from the adrenaline drop and her legs were starting to ache, but she was feeling too uneasy to keep standing in one place, so she started walking again, albeit slowly.

Her journey took her past a few little cafés and shops, none of which were still open. Amy would have loved for even one of them to be open so she could go in and hide for a while. She felt so exposed and vulnerable out on the open street. She wasn't sure how Paul could have found her, but she was still looking around to make sure no one was following.

A couple out for a walk and another man walking a dog passed her and politely greeted her as if everyone were out for a midnight stroll. Seeing others out helped Amy feel a little calmer. If something did happen, there would more likely be witnesses. She kept looking at the cars in the street or in open garage doors, but saw no Porsche.

Passing Grant Street into the 400 block of Union, the hill got significantly steeper. Amy didn't think she was so out of shape, but she whined to herself all the way up the hill. Her feet and legs were starting to burn from exhaustion and her breathing was becoming heavy and labored. She wondered if stress was causing her physical pain. She had to start thinking positively. As she walked up the hill like it were a mountain, she kept reminding herself of good things that were happening, such as the fact that she did get out of her apartment before Paul came. She also felt that once she got to Steve's, everything would be fine. Other than her feet and physical exhaustion, she was still alive and her journey had so far been uneventful.

Hill after hill, house after house, car after car - no sign of the Porsche. She'd made it to the end of the 300 block of Union and still nothing. She was now regretting picking east over west. While standing at the corner of Montgomery and Union, she saw a street sign that said _No Outlet_. She'd reached the end of the street with no luck. She wasn't sure whether to get mad or start crying. This whole thing had become almost too much for her to handle. She turned around and looked back at where she'd just come from. If she walked all the way back to Leavenworth and then west from there, it would likely take another hour and her feet were too sore to want to walk that far. She felt stuck and cold. The temperature felt like it had gone down ten degrees since Amy had left her place. Her coat was too thin to cover up the fact that she was only dressed in a nightgown.

Reminding herself to stay positive, she noted that she at least remembered a coat, even if she did forget shoes. She also noticed that there was still a little piece of the street left, a piece that had buildings with people living in them. It was unlikely, but one of those buildings could be Steve's. She looked up at the clear, starry sky.

"If you have even the slightest bit of sympathy for me...Steve's place will be down there," she said to God or whomever was listing at the moment. She looked up at the street sign. _Montgomery_ it said. Then, as if God had heard her, she remembered something. The day Steve took her home from the hospital, he told her he lived on Union...just past Montgomery. She had completely forgotten that last part until now. Not having seen his car behind her, "past Montgomery" must have meant east of it. Her spirits rose, and she actually got a little excited.

She walked across Montgomery and then stood on the northeast corner, trying to look down the street for the Porsche. There were only a few cars on the north side of the street, so Amy concentrated on the south side. Her eyes were tired and the light from the one streetlamp was not the greatest, but she thought she saw what looked like a Porsche.

"Please don't be teasing me," she said out loud, then ran across and down the street until she got to the car in question. It looked just like Steve's, but Amy looked at the license plate just to be sure. She had this knack for recognizing license plates she'd seen. She couldn't have recited it back to anyone, but if she saw it again, it would be familiar. This one, WSD 867, was.

Amy was so excited that she jumped up and down. Her excitement quickly turned sour once she looked up at the building the car was sitting in front of. It was a multi-unit building, and Amy had no idea which one was Steve's. It was close to midnight she assumed, so she couldn't just start knocking on doors. Either no one would answer, or they'd call the police. Although, if they knew a police officer lived in their building, they might just take her to him. She was too scared to try though.

Standing by the car, she tried looking into the apartment windows. Maybe she'd see something that struck her, but they were dark and all she saw was glass. Then she thought about the car itself. Perhaps Steve's registration papers were in his glove box. Those would have his exact address on them, so she tried the driver's door. It was locked. She ran around to the other door and tried it - also locked.

"Dammit!" she shouted. There had to be another way to get into this car. Maybe she could get into the trunk. She ran to the back of the car and looked around for the trunk handle. She thought maybe she was going blind because there was not one to be found.

"What kind of car is this? Damn foreign garbage," she said in frustration. Then she looked at the grill on the trunk lid. She couldn't figure out why there was an opening in a trunk. Walking around to the front of the car, she saw there was no grill up there.

"What is this, a backwards car?" The little knowledge she had about cars was limited to her 1970 AMC Hornet, and she couldn't seem to figure out that the engine in the Porsche was in the back and the trunk was in the front. It was making her extremely angry. She screamed at the car as if this were its fault.

Steve's eyes popped open. He hadn't been sleeping well and the sound of something outside stirred him from sleep. He also felt a headache coming on, and not wanting to lay around all night letting it keep him awake, he got up and headed into the bathroom for some aspirin. After taking two, he headed back to bed, but not before deciding to take a look out the window to see if there really was something out there. He looked around and, even in the darkness, he could see a person standing around his car. Looking closer, he could see the person looked like a woman. The thought that it could be Amy crossed his mind, though he had no idea why she'd be hanging around his car at midnight.

He went back to his room, threw on a robe and some shoes, and then walked out his front door and down the first set of stairs. The closer he got, the more he realized he was right. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw her hitting his car with her purse.

"Amy, what the hell are you doing?!" He ran down the second set of stairs and to the car.

Not seeing him come out of his apartment, Amy jumped and gasped in fear at his presence. Once she saw who it was, she started explaining her odd behavior. "It...it wouldn't let me in! And then it seemed to misplace its trunk handle," she babbled, pointing to the back of the car.

He had no idea what she was talking about and wondered if she was drunk. "That's the engine," he told her, walking to the street-side of the car where she was standing.

Amy stood, befuddled. "The engine is supposed to be up there," she said sadly, pointing to the front of the car.

"Honey, please don't tell me you're standing out here at midnight to debate where Porsche chose to put their engines." He looked around for her car, but all he saw were cars he knew belonged to neighbors. "How did you get here anyway?"

"I walked."

"You walked? You do own a car, don't you?"

"Yeah, one with the engine in the right place...but I couldn't use it. I keep my registration in my glove box, so I was trying to get into your car and see yours, because I didn't know…" She started crying. "...where you lived."

Steve was completely confused and had no idea where her incoherent rambling was going, so he led her toward his apartment. After they got to the stairs, Steve, who was walking behind Amy, saw she had no shoes.

"You walked all the way here without shoes on?!"

"My feet really hurt," was all she said.

"I can't imagine," he said, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her up the stairs and into his apartment. Once inside, he set her down on the sofa and turned on a light.

"Did you lock that door?" Amy asked, panicking. "You can't leave that door unlocked!" She fell off the couch onto the floor. She crawled furiously over to the door, got up on her knees, and locked it. Then she turned around, looked at Steve, and asked if his windows were locked.

Steve walked over to the front door, which she was now sitting against with a terrified look on her face. He sat down on the floor in front of her. "Amy, what is going on?" he asked as calmly as he could. He was getting perturbed by this vague moment of craziness. "Did something happen after I left? Why couldn't you just call me or drive over here?"

"He...he...he was…" Amy was suddenly too frightened to say what had happened.

"He...he who? Paul?"

Amy nodded.

"What did Paul do? Take a deep breath."

Amy did as she was told several times before she felt like she could actually spit out words. "Paul called me."

"He called you? What did he say?" Steve's annoyance turned to concern.

Amy took another deep breath. "The phone rang and it was Karen. As I was talking to her, the line went dead, so when it rang again a minute later, I figured it was her. I answer it and it's him." She paused, trying to keep her composure. "He asks me if I had fun on my date and that he followed us so that he could get into my mind. He wants to know what I see in you so that he can become you," she said quietly, tears running down her cheeks. She then suddenly tried to stand up. "He knows what your car looks like! You have to hide it or he'll see it and find us!" She ended up sliding back down the door when she stepped on her foot wrong. "Owwww," she moaned.

Steve looked at the bottom of her feet and saw how they were scraped up and bleeding. Amy started talking again before he could say anything.

"At the end of the call, he said he was going to come over so we could 'talk'. I ran out the door without realizing I didn't have shoes on. I ran out the back of the building in case he was sitting out front. I don't even know what I ran through."

"Which is why you didn't drive," Steve said.

"I just...ran. I ran until I got to Union, and there I realized I didn't know your address and I couldn't remember your phone number, so I just...walked until I saw your car. I had to get away from there, Steve. I couldn't stay and let him...I couldn't stay."

The pause in Amy's sentence worried Steve. _Let him what?_ he wondered.

"I'm sure he got to my apartment with that stupid bottle of wine and when I didn't answer, he got mad and left. He's probably driving around looking for me right now. He probably figured I'd run to you, so he's driving around looking for your car." She paused before adding, "You really should hide the car. I don't want to think about what he'll do to you if he finds you." She closed her eyes. "The things he said about you...about me and you…" She swallowed hard, like she was trying to wash the bad memory down her throat.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Steve asked calmly, expecting her to say no. He could tell whatever it was that was said during this phone call, it ripped a large hole in Amy's heart and stunted her ability to function.

She sat there with her eyes closed. "I can't," she whispered.

Steve decided he'd drop the subject for now, hoping that she'd tell him on her own time. Whatever she was holding back, he decided that it was scaring her half to death.

"Well, how about this...we get you cleaned up and mended, then we can deal with this better. Can you do that for me?"

Amy nodded, so Steve stood up, picked her up, and took her into the bathroom. Setting her down on the toilet, he went on a search for Bactine and bandages. In the back of a closet he used for everything from towels to stuff that really had no place, he found a half-empty bottle of Bactine and a roll of gauze. Back in the bathroom, he started running water in the tub and began playing nurse to his patient. He soon realized why he went into police work instead of the medical profession as his patient cursed him and screamed at the pain. After making her cry from the sting of the Bactine, Steve decided to temporarily retire from the medical practice and let his patient dress the wounds herself.

Leaving the bathroom, he rubbed his face with his hands. Originally he just thought Paul was an annoying little gnat - no matter how often Amy shooed him away, he just kept coming back. Then he became a potential murderer with untold motives. Now, he was a stalker, fixated on making Amy his queen. Steve decided that if he and Mike didn't figure something out fast, someone else was going to pay with their life. He started walking to the phone in the living room when there was a knock at his front door.

A bit apprehensive after what he'd just learned, he looked through the peephole, then laughed at his being worried. He unlocked and opened the door. "Do you ever sleep?" he asked his visitor.

"I could ask you the same thing," Mike chuckled and walked in. "I drove by just to see if you were still awake."

"Steve, who's at the door?" Amy called out, worry in her voice.

"Don't worry, Honey, it's just Mike," Steve shouted back, closing the door.

Mike gave him a look of curiosity.

"It's a long story. I'll explain it in a minute. Any news? I assume that's why you're still out," Steve asked.

"Well," Mike started, taking a seat on the couch. "Of the five guys on that list, one is in Europe, one has an alibi - he's in jail in Oklahoma - and one is dead."

"Dead? And we didn't know this already?"

"No, and believe you me, someone will hear about that tomorrow! The other two are currently being sought after. My money is on Curtis Howard. Lessing found some casings on the roof of one of the buildings facing the emergency department entrance. Johnson determined the casings are from an M40 sniper rifle. The only one of the guys on that list who was a Marine and has used that particular rifle is Howard. The other three who are still alive weren't military."

"How come you're not still out there rousting the troops?"

"I got sent home," Mike said, annoyance in his voice. "Since it's not technically my case, Rudy thinks he can just send me home."

"Well even Superman had to sleep once in a while." Steve smiled jovially at his partner.

Suddenly, both men heard an "Owww!" coming from the bathroom. Steve got up and went in there, soon coming out with Amy in his arms. He set her down on the couch between himself and Mike.

Amy, still wearing her coat, smiled shyly at Mike. "Hi, Lieutenant. I tried walking out here, but it hurt. It's a long, terrible story."

Mike looked at her feet, which were now both wrapped in gauze.

"She walked here from her apartment, which is only a mile away, but she chose to make the journey without shoes and in the dark," Steve informed Mike.

"And through questionable backyards," Amy added.

"I'm going to guess it wasn't just because you couldn't sleep," Mike said. "And please, call me Mike."

Amy smiled shyly at him again, but didn't say anything. She simply wrapped her coat around her tighter as if she were freezing.

"Honey, take your coat off, stay awhile. You're not going back home any time soon," Steve told her.

She kept the coat on, using it as a security blanket.

"What's going on?" Mike asked, looking at Steve and then at Amy. She looked like she was going to cry just at the mention of it, so he looked back at Steve.

"My prime suspect is now stalking and making threatening phone calls. He followed her around town tonight, then called her about an hour ago telling her that he followed her and made some other threats." Steve shrugged as a way of telling Mike he didn't know what those threats were.

"Us," Amy piped up. "He followed _us_ around town." She turned to Mike. "He's upset that I'm seeing Steve and not him. He doesn't seem to understand why I won't just admit I love him since he's been there for me for so many things and he's never used me in any way like everyone else. He just wants to take me away from all this heartache." She shivered in fear just thinking about it.

Mike looked at Steve, who had a look that told Mike he had not heard this part before.

"Take you away from the heartache? The heartache he caused. Huh. So his motive in killing all these people was just so that you'd be miserable and he could show you what a great, caring guy he is?" Steve scoffed.

"Mike, he's coming after Steve, I just know it. You have to hide him or something," Amy said with desperation in her voice.

"Why do you think that?" Mike asked her.

She turned and looked at Steve. "You want to talk motive? Victim number two, Darren. I always got this feeling that Paul was jealous of him and thought we were dating. One time he asked me what I saw in Darren. The _way_ he asked me - it was the same way he asked me tonight what I see in you. Condescendingly, jealously...angrily. I laughed at him at the time because the whole idea of him being jealous of Darren was ridiculous. Anyone with half a brain could have told you Darren was gay and that we were just friends, but Paul...I don't know. He just didn't believe it. Paul started trying to hang around me more. He called me a lot asking if we could do lunch or dinner. Heaven forbid I ever tell him that I was doing anything with Darren. He'd actually try and guilt me into dropping my plans and doing something with him instead. And what happened to Darren?"

Steve just looked at her. "You think that's going to happen to me?"

Amy looked at Mike. "Do you see the connection?"

Mike made a face like he was thinking it over. "Well, it was just the one time, but…"

"But what?" Steve asked, disbelieving that Mike was buying Amy's plea.

"But, she does have a point, Buddy Boy. If what she says is true, then this guy could be harboring a lot of resentment toward anyone he sees as a rival. What exactly did he say on the phone?"

Amy closed her eyes, took a breath, and then said, "He said, 'I need to figure out what it is you see in this guy so that I can destroy it.' Destroy it sounds like a threat on someone's life to me. Then he said all Steve was out to do was brainwash me and get into my pants. He's just using me."

Mike noticed Amy was clenching her fists so tight that her knuckles were white.

Steve got up off the couch and started pacing around the room. "Mike, can I just find this guy and shoot him right now?" he asked, animosity in his voice.

Mike got up and walked over to Steve. "Now just calm down a little. No use in getting all bent out of shape and doing something you'll regret. I'm starting to think I should take you off this case."

Steve gave him a desperate look. "Don't do that. I promise, I'll keep my cool." He put his hands up in the air as if he were surrendering. "Promise."

"This guy is just trying to get at both of you, and you're letting him. The more he gets to you, the more he wins in his game of destruction." He looked right at Steve. "Don't let him win. Stay one step ahead of him and keep him out of your head." He turned to Amy. "You too. Don't let him bully you either. Now, did he say anything else you feel is important?"

Amy looked up at him and didn't answer for a while. She pretended to be thinking, but really she was debating whether she should tell the two about Paul mentioning prom night or not. She hadn't told anyone yet, and she decided to keep it a secret. Shaking her head, she said, "No. Nothing more than childish name calling. He didn't exactly admit to killing anyone." She then looked back down at her lap.

Steve was certain she was holding something back, but thought maybe she just was afraid to say anything in front of Mike. Looking at her now, he could tell something was bothering her because she was blinking her eyes a lot and avoiding everyone's stares, something he'd seen her do before when she was trying not to cry. He turned to Mike. "What can we do about this?"

"You know as well as I do - nothing. We wouldn't get a restraining order because he hasn't actually approached her." He turned to Amy. "Right?"

She shook her head no without looking up.

"And one phone call isn't going to send anyone into a tizzy, even if a complaint was filed. The best thing we can do is keep her out of sight and away from her apartment until we get something solid to nail this guy. We're not going to get it tonight it seems, so what we all need to do is get some sleep and tackle this fresh in the morning. Hopefully the boys will find something with the sniper while we're asleep."

Steve nodded, knowing Mike was right. He was glad to have a level-headed friend at that moment because he wasn't thinking as objectively as he should. "You're right," he told his partner. "And she's not going anywhere," he said, looking at Amy.

Mike started toward the door, but before he left, he walked back over to Amy. "Everything will be just fine, I promise. I'm not done with him yet," he told her, nodding his head toward Steve and smiling.

Amy looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"I'll walk you out," Steve told Mike. "I need to move my car anyway." He looked at Amy and smiled. He then grabbed his keys and followed Mike out the door.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Steve asked Mike, "Do you really think this guy will come after me? If he truly murdered all those people, only one of them was probably out of jealousy. She wasn't seeing any of the others."

"Wasn't there another guy? One she met at a conference or something?" Mike asked, knowing full well there was.

"How could that guy possibly count? Amy said they only went out twice, and she didn't even like him!"

"Yes, but you're looking at this with your brain, which is screwed on the right way. Think about it from his perspective...as frightening as that may be. I don't think you need to lay awake at night with your gun by your side, but I do think you should watch your back for now."

Steve shrugged. If Mike was concerned, there probably was something more to this than Steve wanted to admit.

"Besides, you must be more worried than you're leading on. You are moving the car. See you in the morning." Mike got in this car and started the engine.

Steve just stood by his car and shook his head. Admitting fear was not something he really wanted to do, yet there he stood, keys in hand, ready to hide his car.


	22. Chapter 22

**_A/N: I feel like I should put a trigger warning on this chapter. It may be completely unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. It's not graphic, but anything can be a trigger. Probably should have been on the last chapter as well. _**

**_TRIGGER WARNING: This content deals with an account of sexual assault and may be triggering to some people._**

After parking his car around the corner, Steve walked in his apartment and found Amy had fallen over on the couch. Her feet were on the ground, but the upper half of her body was laying on the cushions. Her eyes were wide open, and she appeared to be simply staring at the wall.

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" Steve asked, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"It probably will be eventually." She shivered. "Why is it so cold in here?"

He walked over to the lamp and turned it off, making the room dark except for the small amount of moonlight coming in. "Because you're having a panic attack. Come on, let's go lay down," he told her, sitting her up.

"In there?" she asked. "I'll be fine here."

Steve took her hand and pulled her off the couch onto her feet. Even in the dark, he could tell she made a face at the pain. "It's warmer in there," he told her.

Gingerly she followed Steve into the bedroom and then climbed onto the bed, still wearing her coat.

"No coats in bed. That's what blankets are for," Steve said.

She quickly took the coat off and let it fall to the floor. Then she got under the covers and curled up in a ball, still shaking. The combination of the cold night air she'd walked in and a panic attack were causing her to have uncontrollable tremors.

Steve climbed into the bed and pulled Amy close. "Hey, calm down, okay? You're fine now. Paul isn't going to find you. He's not going to find me either. I have a feeling I won't be going off too many places without police protection for a while."

"Good," she replied. "I'm glad Mike is worried too."

He rubbed her arm and started breathing with her. "Breathe in...breathe out. In...out…" This went on for a few minutes until she'd stopped shaking.

"I used to do this as a kid," she said once she'd calmed down. "I'd wake up worried about something, and I just start shaking. No matter what I told myself, I couldn't stop. I hadn't had an episode in years, and now I've had several in the past week."

"That's because you're under a lot of stress, and you're scared. We'll get through it though, I promise."

The two lay in silence for a few minutes. Amy, who had her head laying on Steve's chest, was calmer, but still emotional. Steve felt his t-shirt getting wet from the tears that were falling out of her eyes.

"You want to tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

"Tell you about what?"

"What's still bothering you. If you'd truly calmed down and gotten past everything, you wouldn't be getting my shirt wet."

"Nothing is bothering me," she lied.

"You do know I don't believe that for a second, right?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

Amy paused. "I've never told anyone, and it's going to stay that way."

Steve thought for a second. "Whatever happened to you feeling like you could tell me anything without me thinking you were crazy? Weren't those your exact words?"

"This is worse than that though."

"Worse than anything? Unless you're afraid to tell me you killed someone...or that you're going to kill me...I don't think anything you tell me could be that bad."

She sniffed. "I didn't kill anyone. It's just...embarrassing. It'll make you hate me. It would make anyone hate me or think I'm some kind of hypocrite. My own father would have killed me if he'd found out."

"Do you believe I love you?" Steve asked her.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"At the moment, that's the best I can do."

"Fair enough, but you need to believe that no matter what you tell me, it's not going to make me hate you, be disappointed in you, push you away, or love you any less." He began running his fingers through her hair. "Was it something Paul said?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Steve could tell she was going to be fighting through tears telling him this story, but he didn't say anything more. He felt it best to just let her talk at her own pace.

"He compared you to that one boyfriend I mentioned I had. His name was Craig McCarthy. He was out of my league. I wasn't the most unpopular girl in school, but I wasn't in his league of popularity either. He was a jock...I hung out with the artistic kids, not the cheerleaders, so I never expected a guy like Craig to even know of my existence. We did have chem lab together though, and one day we got paired up. For the whole semester we were lab partners, and that led to friends and, well, you know how it goes."

"Yeah, I think I remember how that works. I'm just wondering if I should be jealous or not."

"You went too far with it." She paused. "Craig went too far with it."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked. He could tell she was having trouble telling the rest of the story, so he said, "Take your time."

A minute passed before she spoke up again. "Craig was my date for senior prom. The night was going alright while we were at the dance, with the exception of Paul, who kept hovering. I remember asking him why he wouldn't go away, and he told me he was worried about me."

"That sounds familiar," Steve said.

"But afterward...Craig wanted to go to some hotel room someone had rented. I didn't want to go, but I was a very insecure teenager and desperate to hang on to a guy, so I went. I sat in the corner and watched Craig get drunk and talk to everyone but me most of the time we were there. Then he decided to leave. I thought he'd finally taken my feelings into consideration, but in reality, his buddies had all decided to go parking with their dates."

Steve let out a sigh, having an idea of where this was going, and he didn't like it. "What did he do?" he asked quietly.

"I think you know what he did...or tried. Didn't go all the way to fourth base, so to speak, but that's only half of it." She paused. "I thought I'd actually gotten lucky, because Paul had naturally followed us up there and...he saved me." Then she chuckled. "Now that I look back at the scene, I realize that Paul was too angry. He pulled Craig out of that car with strength I didn't know he had. I actually had to beg Paul to stop beating on him." Then she said in almost a whisper, "He could have killed him."

"Like I told you this morning, there was something in your subconscious that made you worried about him. That something I said you saw? This could be that something. Between this and the dog…"

"So I knew all along he was bad...and I did nothing about it," Amy said sadly.

"Hey, now. Don't go beating yourself up. We've all made a mistake like that at some time in our lives. I couldn't even count the number of people I've encountered who have told me that they sensed something was amiss with someone they knew or some situation, but they just didn't think anything bad would actually happen. We all have been in denial."

"No one would have believed me anyway. Craig, not wanting to admit that a wimp like Paul had beaten him up so badly, told everyone at school that he got into a fight at a bar. I went along with it because I just didn't care anymore. All I wanted to do was disappear."

"Why?" Steve asked, not sure why having her boyfriend get a little too friendly would cause her this much grief. "Did Craig start spreading rumors around about you or something?"

"Not because of Craig...Paul. And he made sure to remind me of just what he did tonight." She paused to gather her composure again, as pictures of the incident started playing in her mind like a horror movie.

"After he beat up Craig, Paul told me he'd take me home. Thing is, no one was at my house because my parents had gone out for the night with some other couples, so he didn't take no for an answer very well when he asked if I wanted him to come in and 'make sure I was okay.' He came in and I tried telling him that I was fine and I'd just like to go to bed, but he kept telling me the night was young and he didn't feel like going home and hanging out with his parents. I told him he didn't have to go home, but I wanted to be alone. He tells me now is not the time to be alone; it's the time to be with someone who loves you."

Steve could tell by the change in her voice that she was no longer there with him; she had gone back to her house and that night, recalling it as she relived every second.

"Haven't you noticed how much I love you, Amy? Craig doesn't love you! He was using you! Those pretty boys always use and abuse women and then throw them away like trash. The stupid girls keep going back and begging for the jerk to stay with them, but you're not a stupid whore like them, Amy! Don't go crawling back to him! Stay here with me! Let me show you how a real man treats a lady."

Steve took ahold of her left hand. She started squeezing it tightly.

Through heavier tears she continued, "He picks me up and hauls me into my bedroom, throwing me on the bed. Immediately, I get up and try to run out the door, but he's standing in front of it and I can't get around him. I'm a prisoner in my own bedroom and no one can hear me scream! I fought and fought until I was worn out and in pain because he sprained my wrist as he held me onto the bed. After I'd stopped kicking, he starts going on and on about romance and the perfect atmosphere and how sex makes two people one and bonds them together for all eternity."

Steve suddenly felt ill.

"We're soulmates, don't you see? From the first moment we met when you told Billy Baker to stop throwing rocks at the new kid - you were my angel. Be my angel now. Let me give you your wings."

Now Steve knew he was going to be sick.

Amy's grip on his hand tightened so much that his hand started to go numb.

"He tore my dress...he kissed me…"

As she trailed off, she started thrashing around, as if she were actually fighting off Paul. Steve knew this had gone far enough.

"Amy. Amy. AMY," he said, louder and louder until she came back to reality. She stopped fighting and looked up at Steve.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry."

Steve put her head back down on his chest. "Shhh, it's okay. I don't know what you have to be sorry about; he's the one who should be sorry."

The two lay there in silence while Amy cried herself out. Steve held her tightly, hoping that it made her feel less alone and unprotected. He didn't even want to imagine how she'd felt back then, alone with an unstable man like Paul and no one to turn to for help. Thinking about it made his blood boil.

After Amy had stopped crying, she decided to finish her story. "Just as he was trying to get my dress all the way off, I looked over and saw that I had left a soda bottle on my nightstand. I struggled to reach it, but I finally did and hit him over the head as hard as I could. Didn't knock him out cold, but it stopped him."

"Good for you!" Steve said, glad to hear that she'd had some fight still in her...and that Paul hadn't managed to go all the way.

"He was so sorry. He sat there on the floor apologizing left and right, probably because his head hurt so bad. He left, all embarrassed. I felt disgusting, so I went and sat in the shower and let the water run on me for hours until I felt somewhat clean again. Then I tried to pretend nothing happened. I shoved the dress into the back of my closet, cleaned up the broken glass, and went to bed before my parents even got home. For the next several weeks, I did one hell of an acting job around everyone. No one knew anything was bothering me. I buried it as far down as I could. I even forgave Paul, just to pretend it didn't happen."

"You poor thing," was all Steve could manage to say. He couldn't come up with any better words to express how bad he felt for Amy.

"Then, he calls tonight and brings it all back out. He said what we were doing was 'making love' because if it weren't love, I would have told someone," she said, choking up again. "He told me you were just another Craig...and you're just fooling me into thinking you're a good guy, but once you get me alone…" She choked on her words. "I'll wish Paul would be there to save me."

Now Steve was beyond mad. Not only had Paul tried to intimidate and manipulate Amy, but now he was trying to fill her head with lies about him. He had to take a moment to calm himself down before he lost it.

"Please tell me you don't believe that. Please tell me that you don't think I would _ever_ do anything like that to you."

There was a sadness in Steve's voice that was not lost on Amy. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at the ceiling.

"On my way here, I passed that café we ate at this morning. I kind of laughed to myself because I realized it had only been just this morning; it seems like days ago. I looked at the place and thought about how much has changed today, most of it not good. I've been told so many lies...or I was just in denial...I don't know, but I felt better about life while I was in that café than I do now. Then I got to wondering if my whole life was a lie. Like, my only purpose on earth is to be a proverbial punching bag for everyone. I need one thing in my life to be true. I need someone to assure me that they are on my side."

Steve rolled over onto his side and looked at her. "Let me be that one thing. I haven't lied to you, and I sure as hell am not going to hurt you like anyone else has. I'm sorry that you seem to have a bunch of manipulative con artists in your life; if I could snap my fingers and take away all the pain they've caused, I would do it in a heartbeat. But don't think that I'll eventually end up in that group. All I have wanted since I first saw you was for you to be happy. That's still all I want. I don't know what all these other people want, but screw them. They don't matter and they're not going to get to you as long as I'm around. Please trust that..and me."

Amy looked into his eyes. "I guess if you're still willing to put up with a used piece of trash with too much baggage that's a huge hypocrite by staying friends with her attacker, the least I can do is trust you. I still don't see why you don't hate me though."

"For almost being raped by someone you trusted and then doing whatever you needed to stay sane? First of all, that wasn't in any way your fault, so you have nothing to feel ashamed about. Second, it doesn't make you 'used trash.' It doesn't make you anything less than you have always been, and frankly, I love that girl no matter what she's been through. There isn't a Paul, or a Craig, or anyone else who's going to change my mind." He then leaned over, kissed her gently on the lips, and set his forehead on hers. "Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me though. I know it was hard."

Amy half-heartedly chuckled. "Maybe I do trust you more than I lead on. I never even told my mother this."

Steve lay back down, placing his head next to hers and draping his right arm over her stomach. "You can always trust me, okay?"

Amy nodded, wiping tears off her face.

"And I promise you, as long as I'm alive, Paul will never hurt you again. Right now though, I think we both need some sleep," Steve said through a yawn.

"Okay," Amy said, taking ahold of his right hand in her left and closing her eyes. "Hey, Steve?" she said after a little while.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

Steve responded by kissing her on the cheek.

* * *

Steve slowly opened his eyes. He wasn't sure why he'd woken up, but then he didn't even remember falling asleep. He found himself looking at Amy, who was sleeping on her right side facing him and fast asleep. It was the most peaceful she'd looked all day. Even with the much needed peace, she still appeared to be sleeping rather restlessly. Her eyes were fluttering wildly under her eyelids, telling Steve she was dreaming. Her subconscious had plenty of pain to deal with and it didn't surprise him to see it coming out in her sleep. At least she was in a deep enough sleep to have dreams. He, on the other hand, didn't feel as if he'd gotten that far. His mind kept going to the night Amy had told him about. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd think about Amy trying to fight off Paul. Try as he may, he couldn't get the image of Amy, struggling to get Paul off of her, out of his mind. He hadn't even known Amy at the time, but he would have given anything to go back and save her - to be the one to hear her screams of anguish and desperation. All he could do was worry about how it had, and still was, affecting her.

He wondered what he could do to make her whole again. Arresting Paul and putting an end to his torment would help, but how much? He knew better than to assume that would be a cure all and she'd be a hundred percent afterward. She would still be dealing with his attack, her father's death, and being shot at Carl's funeral. He considered consulting with Lenny on ways to help her, but that would depend on her willingness to be helped by therapy. She'd been reluctant to trust anyone with what happened in the past six years, so she might not be open to talking with a complete stranger. Maybe getting away from town for a while would do the trick. Steve thought maybe he could take her somewhere she would feel safe and relaxed. They could find a quiet beach in Hawaii, or maybe an isolated cabin in the woods. Even getting lost in a big city far away from San Francisco could help.

Then he started to think about their relationship. Here it was, early in the morning on a Tuesday, and he was laying in bed looking at a girl he'd met only the previous Wednesday. Seven days ago, he'd been living the same kind of day he'd been living for months - getting up, going to work, spending way too much time there, and during the brief downtimes, seeing various girls or hanging out with Mike. Now he was planning to take this woman to remote locales and hide from life with her. Mike was probably right - he was getting in deep, and it was probably too quick as well, but nothing about the situation felt wrong to Steve. He'd never been one to live life in the slow lane anyway, and that included his love life. Unlike other relationships he'd had though, this one was different. This wasn't an exciting fling or something Steve saw no long-term future in - it was serious, and he was dead serious about it.

The first time he saw her, he knew she was different and he felt different about her than any other woman he'd ever met. He could see himself doing what he was doing now - waking up next to her - for many years to come. She'd be fast asleep, her hair in her face and looking like hell after a long day of helping society. The phone would ring, and it would be Mike, calling him out to a middle of the night murder scene. She'd wake up and ask where he was going. He'd have to apologize for waking her up for the hundredth time as he quickly got dressed. She'd smile, get up, and help him find his clothes in the dark. On the way out the door, he'd feel like he had to apologize again for constantly leaving her and not being home - and she would just smile, wish him luck on his case, and kiss him goodbye, fully understanding that that was just what he had to do. He smiled to himself; he didn't know if that was exactly how the scene would go, but Amy had made it pretty clear that she didn't mind his inconsistent schedule or anything else about his job. She _was_ different.

He rolled over and looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was two minutes past six, which made Steve groan. He felt like he'd slept for an hour, but if he wanted to get to work on time, he'd have to get up.

An hour later, Steve stood at his closet, trying to pick a tie in the dark.

"Just turn on the light," Amy said.

He turned around. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, I just woke up."

He walked over to the lamp and switched it on.

Amy made a face at the brightness.

"Sorry again."

"That's alright. What time is it?"

"Seven. You can go back to sleep," Steve said, going back to his tie picking duties.

"Eh. I feel like I should be getting up and making you coffee or something."

Steve chose a tie and started putting it on. As he did so, he walked over to the bed and sat down on the side Amy was laying on. "You don't have to do that unless you're hungry."

Amy sat up and shook her head. "Too early for that." She turned herself so that she was sitting next to Steve. "You probably didn't get much sleep last night."

"Enough. How are you feeling?"

"Too early for that too. I told you I wasn't a morning person."

Steve grinned. "You weren't lying."

Amy looked down at her feet and saw her coat. "I just got here and already I'm messing up your bedroom," she said, leaning over and picking up the coat off the floor. As she did, the journal fell out. "Oh, I forgot all about this part," she muttered.

"What part?" Steve, done tying his tie, leaned over and picked up the journal. "Did you find something in here?"

"Oh yeah...I sure did."

"That bad...or that good?"

Amy shrugged. "Depends on perspective. To a detective, possibly good. To me, not so much." She took the journal from Steve and started flipping pages. Once she reached the ones toward the back, she handed the book back to him. "In case you want to follow along with my summary."

He looked at the pages and could make out a few words, but not all.

"Basically, these pages detail phone conversations between Carl and a girl named Mitzi, with whom he was having an affair."

Steve widened his eyes at something he read. "A six year old heard _that_?"

Amy patted him on the back. "You read something! See, you are picking up kidspeak. And yes, a six year old heard that."

"Who is this Mitzi? Do you know her?"

"Sounds like one of his students. I thought the name sounded familiar, but I can't seem to place it. She's probably an undergrad."

"He was having an affair with a student?" Steve asked in disbelief.

"Mmm hmm, but that's not the best part." She flipped a couple pages and pointed to some writing. "See if you can read this. From a week before Carl died."

Steve took a moment to decipher the writing. "Bright...Horizons? What is that?"

"It's a residency center for single mothers. They had a counselor job open that I had really hoped to at least interview for. Carl originally told me about it and said I'd be perfect for it. I really had high hopes for that one. It seemed like it was taking forever for the lady who runs the site to do interviews, and I kept asking Carl about it. 'She's probably busy,' he'd say. 'I'll call her and ask.' I actually believed him."

As she was talking, Steve was reading on. "He...ohhh," he muttered, reading the part where Carl revealed that he was leading Amy on. "He was getting a job he promised you for his girlfriend?" He looked at Amy with sadness and pity in his eyes.

"Looks that way, yeah. I put all my trust and confidence into a man who was a two-faced ass."

"And here I was wondering why you're so distrustful." He shook his head, turned to her, and gave her a hug. "I am so sorry, Honey. I know this must be a huge blow to you."

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. "That's a bit of an understatement," she said sadly.

"I can't believe that guy," he said angrily. "And I thought his wife was a horrible person. Sleeping with your students? What a bastard."

"For a while there, after I first read that, I was actually kind of glad he was dead. I wished I could bring him back to life, make him feel as bad as he made me feel, and then kill him again. That makes me sound horrible."

"Not any more horrible than me wanting to kill Paul for what he did to you...or now Carl for what he did. It probably is a good thing I can't tell him what I think of him." Steve let go of Amy and stood up. "I mean, what kind of people lie to and manipulate someone as sweet and caring as you?"

"The kind that see a weak, naive person?"

"Weak...they've made you think you were weak so they could prey on you. Parasites." Steve kicked his dresser and threw the journal hard toward the bed. It bounced off the wall with a loud thud, making Amy jump. She quickly grabbed the book, checking it for damage.

He suddenly felt very angry and vengeful. How dare these two hurt his girl like that? She did nothing but give them her full trust, and they threw it back in her face. In the midst of his temper tantrum, he got a thought.

"How frustrated were you with Carl's disregard for helping you? Did you notice it much before the journal?" he asked Amy.

She was a bit shaken from Steve's display of indignation. "I...well, I can't say I wasn't unhappy. I was getting tired of being a nanny...and I did hear about some of the people I graduated with getting jobs. That made me feel like there was something wrong with me. So I guess a bit."

"Did you ever mention it to Paul?"

"I...I don't know. I may have." She thought for a moment. "I think I may have mentioned something like, Carl seems to not be hooking me up with his friends as much as he promised. I'm not exactly sure. Why?"

"Motive."

"What?"

"Paul wants to be your knight in shining armor - to save you from all the evil people in your life, right?"

Amy nodded.

"So you tell him your boss is doing you wrong. He's good at stalking people, so he follows Carl around, seeing if he can get any dirt on the guy. Maybe he thinks if he can blackmail Carl or something, the man will change his tune and help you. Oh, but then maybe he sees Carl with Mitzi and realizes the kind of guy he's dealing with - one of those really evil people in your life. You see where I'm going with this?"

Amy looked at Steve, not quite sure what to think. "You think Paul killed Carl because he found out what he was doing to me?"

"Anything to look like your savior," Steve told her.

"But what good did it do? I didn't even know!"

"Murder isn't always logical."

"No, I suppose not. Where'd you come up with this?"

"Because I think, as sick as this sounds, I finally understand him. If I can get mad enough at Carl that I want him dead, so could he. I just wouldn't act on it."

"Please don't go any further into his brain. Please." Amy looked at Steve almost as if she feared him.

Steve put his hands on her face and kissed her. "Don't worry. I don't take my job that seriously."

"Do you take me that seriously?" she asked.

Steve wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't really like the fearful look Amy was giving him. "Yes...but in a different way. I want to protect you too, but not at the expense of someone else's life."

Amy looked at him almost as if she didn't quite believe him.

"Trust me," Steve said.

"Oh, I do. I just don't want you to lose your head over it. Like Mike said, I don't want you doing something you'll regret. Neither of us want to lose you."

Reality set in. Mike worried about that last night and now Amy was worrying about it this morning. Perhaps he was getting in this too deep. He suddenly felt rather uneasy with himself. Having his girlfriend look at him with fear in her eyes concerned him.

"I need to get to work. Try to get some more sleep, okay? And don't go out anywhere."

"Where would I go? I have no clothes," she said.

"Right." He walked out the door of his bedroom and into the living room. Amy jumped up and followed him as best she could on feet that still hurt. On his way out the door, she called to him.

"Hey, I love you!" But he didn't stop. He slammed the door and ran down the stairs, leaving Amy alone and confused.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve walked into the squad room and slowly walked to his desk. He didn't really want to say what he felt he had to, but he didn't want to jeopardize his job and the case either. When he got to his desk, he saw Mike wasn't in his office anyway. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then his phone rang.

"Keller, homicide."

"You left before I could finish the story," Amy said on the other end. "There was another bit of information in Jasmine's journal."

"Oh?" was all he said. He felt ashamed at his behavior earlier and now didn't quite know how to talk to her.

"From the grocery store. Jasmine saw a man standing behind me. She said he put something in my basket while I was standing by the tea. I thought that was important."

"Yeah, it is. Did she say anything about him?"

"No."

Steve grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from off his desk. "What day was that again?"

"The day before Carl died."

Steve wrote the information down. "That might prove to be very helpful." He paused. "I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance to tell me before."

"Are you mad at me?" she asked.

"No, I'm mad at myself." He turned around and saw Mike coming in the room. In his hand was a folder, which he was reading through as he walked to his office.

"Hey, I have to go. Thanks for calling. And, uh, sorry about this morning. I'll...I'll talk to you later," he said, still upset with himself. He didn't even give Amy a chance to say goodbye.

Mike, noticing his partner was now off the phone, called him into his office.

"You have something?" Steve asked, walking into the office and closing the door.

"Howard's jacket. He did three years in San Quentin - got out six months ago."

"What for?" Steve asked.

"Aggravated assault. Says here that Howard threatened to shoot a guy in the head. Apparently the guy had hired Howard to kill his wife, but when Howard saw the wife, he couldn't kill her."

"A hired hitman that suddenly grew a conscience? That's unusual."

"The woman looked too much like his ex-wife, he said. So he goes to tell who hired him that he'd have to find another person to do the hit. The guy goes berserk on Howard, and Howard beats him and holds a gun to his head."

Steve shook his head at the oddness of the situation. "So he got three years for self-defense?"

"Ten for the attempted murder. It wasn't the first time we'd had him connected to a contracted hit, but there was never enough evidence to take him to trial. I guess the judge decided to make him pay for the others with this one. Got out in three for good behavior." Mike sighed. "Don't you love the legal system? Gets out in three years just so we can catch him and throw him right back in. What a waste."

"So he looks pretty good for a hired hit then?" Steve commented.

"Surely." Mike pulled a piece of paper out of the folder. "Get a load of this. The department gave him a psych evaluation in prison. He came back from Vietnam with combat fatigue. He'd been there twice by that time, 1970. Second time he came back, he caught his wife with another man. This exacerbated his condition. She leaves him and all he has left is the job he left behind. However, he'd become unreliable and quick-tempered, so they let him go."

"Ouch," Steve said.

"Someone at the VA let him fall through the cracks and he fell off the grid. Somewhere in that time, the guy determines the one thing he's good at is sniping, so he makes that his life's work. His specialty appears to be killing those who have done someone wrong. Cheating spouses, bad bosses, etc." Mike flipped to another sheet. "This list of cold cases possibly attached to him is pretty extensive...and telling. Several cheaters on here."

"Killing his own wife repeatedly...unless the woman looks like his wife I guess." Steve then sat and thought for a second. "Wait. Let's put this scenario into our case. Say Paul told Howard that Milani was having an affair with his 'wife.' He doesn't want his wife killed, just her lover. Somehow one of them finds out that Milani will be at the hospital."

Mike looked at Steve over the top of his glasses, not completely understanding Steve's theory.

"Just trust me on this and I promise I'll explain it in more detail later. Paul sees himself as Amy's avenger. If someone does her wrong, he makes them pay for it. Seeing as Milani was in jail and getting to him up close would be impossible, he decides shooting him from far away is his best bet. Paul's not a sniper, so he hires one. Howard is perfect. Paul, who also sees himself as Amy's love interest, tells Howard that Milani had seduced his wife or something. Howard sympathizes with him and agrees to the hit. He was the perfect candidate to pull it off."

Mike nodded. "That makes sense. If we ever find the guy, we'll have to ask him. Tell me something though. Where did this theory come from? I thought Paul Carpenter was just a stalker and that he might have killed a guy he was jealous of."

"Details now...okay. That journal Amy was reading. Last night before the whole thing happened with Paul, she was reading it. Toward the back, she reads that Carl was having an affair with one of his students - a student that he was helping get a job instead of Amy. It sounds like the whole time he was pretending to help Amy, he was actually hurting her. I ask her if she'd ever mentioned any frustrations to Paul that would make him dig into Carl's day to day activities. She thought she had. So maybe he goes and follows the guy and sees him with this girlfriend. He's not exactly a level-headed man to start with, so he decides to kill Carl to avenge Amy."

Mike sat and thought the theory over.

"You don't buy it, do you?" Steve asked.

"I didn't say that. Actually, it sounds plausible. Like you said, the guy isn't playing with a full deck. There are just a lot of missing pieces that we need to find before we start making concrete accusations. Who is this girlfriend?"

Steve shook his head. "All it says is Mitzi, and Amy couldn't remember a Mitzi."

"We need to find her. We also need to get the results back on those fingerprints. What could be taking those guys so long?" Mike asked, exasperated. He picked up the phone as Steve stood up to leave. However, he put the phone down and turned back to Steve. "What's chewing on you?"

"What?"

"You just look bothered by something."

"Well, I didn't have the greatest of nights last night."

"Oh? Something more happen after I left?" Mike asked, concerned.

Steve sat back down. "When Amy was first telling me about the phone call, I had a feeling she was leaving something out. Then when you were there talking to her, I still had that feeling, so after you left, I asked her to tell me."

"Bad?"

Steve leaned over and put his elbows on his knees. "I almost wished I wouldn't have asked, but she needed to tell someone." He put his face in his hands for a second, trying to spit the words out. "Back in high school, Paul tried to rape her. She'd buried it in her subconscious all these years, but he brought it back up when he called her. He's using it against her, and it pissed me off."

Mike made a face. "That's a rough one. How's she doing this morning?"

"She acts like she's fine, but she's lying. Even at my place, she won't feel safe; she can't run away from bad memories. On top of that, she tells me about Carl screwing her over. She doesn't feel like she can trust anyone; I'm not 100% sure she even trusts me."

"Hey, don't let it get to you," Mike said in his best loving-father voice. "She's been hit with a lot in a short amount of time, and I doubt she ever fully recovered from her father dying, so adding to an already fragile mind only makes dealing with the weight harder. If she didn't trust you, she wouldn't have come to you last night."

Steve sat up. "It's just…" He hit the arm of the chair with his fist with enough strength that it made Mike jump. "All these things have made me so damn mad...I think I actually understand if Paul's motive for killing Carl was out of anger at what he was doing. He was ruining any chance Amy thought she had for a job and he didn't seem to care! _I_ wanted to kill the guy! I want to kill Paul for what he did to her! I even scared _her_ this morning. She honestly wondered if I would do something drastic."

He got up and started pacing the floor. He walked back and forth a couple times before stopping in front of Mike's desk.

Mike looked at his partner and saw anger and sadness in his eyes. He'd seen several cases affect Steve emotionally, but never to this extent.

"Maybe you were right," Steve told him.

"Right about what?" Mike asked.

"When you said last night that maybe you should take me off this case. I thought about it all the way here this morning. You warned me before about keeping my cool...and now I'm not sure if I can."

Mike stood up and looked at Steve.

"You really think you can just walk away from this?"

Steve didn't know how to answer.

"Because I don't," Mike told him. "You've wanted to solve this since you first brought it to me, and I don't think you can just walk away from it without somehow being involved in finding the answers. You'd go stir crazy. Now, I didn't say that you probably _shouldn't_ be kicked off the case; a clear conflict of interest has developed. That being said, I still believe in you. I think you will be able to handle it from now on, especially since you're worried about not handling it. It's when cops don't realize they should walk away that I worry. They think they have all the answers, and they're the only ones who can do the job. You, though, you saw your weaknesses and were willing to tell me about them."

Steve just shrugged. Mike was right - he didn't want to walk away. He wanted to be the one to put Paul behind bars, but even if Mike had faith in his ability to control his emotions, he didn't share the sentiment.

"Do you want to walk away?" Mike asked.

"No, I don't," Steve said matter-of-factly.

"Then you're staying on. Perhaps on paper, I'll be flying solo on this, but in reality - out there on the street - I want you on this case with me. I want to see you solve it and be the hero," Mike said, smiling.

"Oh yeah, I feel like a real hero," Steve said facetiously.

"Doesn't matter how you feel. It only matters how _she_ sees you."

Steve smirked, still not feeling like anyone's hero.

Mike's phone rang. "Stone," he answered. Steve was about to walk out of the office, but Mike snapped his fingers, indicating Steve needed to stay. "Where?" he asked the caller. "When?"

Steve could tell whatever this was, it was big.

"The minute he gets in this building, you call me! I get first crack at him. Save your breath; this is also my case and I outrank you." He hung up the phone.

Steve was surprised by Mike's show of superiority. "What was that all about?"

"They got Howard. Lessing and Tanner are bringing him in soon." Mike clapped his hands, ready to nail the guy to the proverbial wall.

"Really? They were able to track him down in only a day? I figured he'd be long gone, like in Canada or somewhere."

"Guess he's not much for running."

"You have to let me in on the interview," Steve said, completely changing his tune from just seconds before.

"I thought you wanted out?" Mike said, teasing. "But no can do, Buddy Boy. You're not technically even on this case. The two cases aren't connected yet."

"But Mike...I have to ask this guy if Paul is the one who hired him!" Steve was stooping to pleas.

"I'm capable of asking that too you know."

Steve started to retort, but Mike cut him off. "Sorry, but not this time, Steve." He could tell the young man was less than thrilled with his decision, so he added, "Why don't you give me that picture you had. I'll show it to him and ask if Paul's the guy who hired him. I'll make sure to remind him it will be worth his while to put some of the blame on the person who hired him."

Steve relented. He knew Mike would ask all the right questions and get under the guy's skin if he were to try and clam up, so he walked out to his desk, grabbed the picture from a drawer, and gave it to Mike.

"In the meantime, you can do some work on the case you are on. We need to find this Mitzi woman, we need to talk to people who knew our other possible victims, we need to light a fire under those guys in the lab!"

"I need to call UCSF and ask them about Paul. Oh, and I forgot the most important thing in that journal. Jasmine saw a man put something in or take something out of Amy's grocery basket the day she bought the tea. I'm guessing that's how she ended up with the tainted stuff, so we need security footage from the store," Steve said.

"And you want to take time to do an interview? You're busy enough as it is! Go, get to it, Superman!"

"Oh, I'm Superman now? I thought you were?" Steve said, joshing Mike.

"I'm willing to share," Mike said, smiling.


	24. Chapter 24

Steve sat at his desk, staring at the stack of files he'd just gathered. The files were everything any agency available had on his remaining victims - Darren, Brenda, Shawn, and Shannon. Also in the pile sat everything he knew about his suspect, which unfortunately wasn't much. It wasn't a big pile, but Steve had no idea where to start. Which of the five people should he investigate first? Who did he talk to about them? He was afraid he and Mike would end up interviewing a hundred people just to find one who knew something. Then there was the many phone calls to make - to the lab, the grocery store, UCSF, Berkeley...he didn't feel like gluing the phone to his ear.

Instead, he pulled out a notepad and made a list of all the things that needed done. Maybe if his tasks were in list form, they'd be easier to tackle. As he was writing, Mike's phone rang. Steve got up and answered it. It was the lab with the results from both the tea box and the tox screen. Carl Duncan did have trace amounts of mexasofaline in his body. The drug had already been removed by his liver, but Bernie managed to find some in remaining blood that had not run through the liver prior to death. As far as the fingerprints, one was found inside the box. After running it through the state database, it came back as belonging to a Paul Carpenter.

Steve almost jumped for joy. The more evidence that pointed directly to Paul, the happier Steve would be. After hanging up, he decided all he needed to nail Paul for Carl's murder was proof that he had access to mexasofaline. He walked back out to his desk and looked at his list. He grabbed a pencil, crossed off _Call UCSF_, and picked up the phone.

After finding out that Paul had been enrolled in the Clinical Research Master's program, Steve got a list of people in the clinical research department who knew and worked closely with him. He hung up the phone, adding _Go to UCSF_ to his to-do list.

At that time, Tanner and Lessing came in, leading Curtis Howard into an interview room. Mike was right behind the trio and made a beeline to the room. Steve watched as the three got right to the interrogation. He was a bit upset at his exclusion, but he also knew Mike would get the answers they needed. He turned around and tried to put it out of his mind. There were plenty of other things for him to do.

Steve's phone rang. He answered it and found himself talking to Inspector Carlisle in Fraud.

"Keller, you owe me one for taking this Duncan mess off your hands," Carlisle said, lightheartedly.

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"Because I'm not a marriage counselor. You know what these two lunatics were doing with their money?"

"Do I want to know?" Steve asked.

"Probably not. They were blackmailing _each other_."

"They were _what_?" Steve asked, thinking maybe he misheard.

"The wife was having an affair with their accountant."

"Yeah, I knew that one."

"The husband found out and apparently thought the best way to get back at her was to drain her of her family's inheritance. She had to pay him so much money every month or he would tell her family she was a cheater. I guess that would have upset her blue blood family a lot."

"Wait, she was wealthy on her own? She sure didn't make it sound that way to us," Steve said. "So why was she blackmailing him?"

"Same reason, cheating. She found out he was dating one of his students, she threatened to tell his bosses at Berkeley, so he bought her any damn thing she wanted."

"So basically, they were passing the same money back and forth?" Steve shook his head at the stupidity of it all.

"Well, sort of. The thing is, none of the money seems like it came from legitimate sources. The checks to Janice that were supposedly blackmail checks from her husband were from an offshore account. We've been looking into this account and it is setting off all sorts of red flags. It also appears to be somehow linked to that shelter Carl Duncan is...well, was...building."

"So what you're saying is that I just gave you a whole lot of work to do," Steve joshed.

"Remind me to thank you later. Did get an arrest out of the way though," Carlisle said.

"Oh? Whose?"

"Janice Duncan's."

"No," Steve gasped in disbelief. "What did you get her on? She slap you or something?" Steve found himself a little too happy to see this woman behind bars.

"Her husband was writing checks off an illegal account. She was writing counterfeit checks."

"Wait a minute. Carl was depositing phony checks and he never noticed?"

"They shared an accountant, remember? Pretty sure he was in on it. The further we dig, the more crap we find. The DA's office is going to have a field day with this...and they won't like us too well."

"Wow. I didn't think it was going to go that deep," Steve said.

Carlisle laughed. "Neither did I. Just thought you'd want to know what came of what you gave me."

"Thanks. Oh, say, how did you learn all about Carl's side of this? Who did you talk to?"

"Got most of the information from his girlfriend. Sounds like he told her everything, though she wasn't involved."

"Is her name Mitzi?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, Mitzi Granger. Why?"

"Because I think she could help Mike and me on the murder part of that case. You have a phone number or address on her?"

"Uh, yeah, let me see."

Steve could hear Carlisle looking through papers.

"Ah, here it is," he finally said. "We found her at a place on Judah Street. 2420, number 4."

"Thanks. That helps a lot." As Steve was writing the address down, another thought came to his mind. "Let me ask you another question. Since Carl Duncan is dead, and Janice Duncan is in jail...where's their daughter?"

"Foster home I'm pretty sure, or at least on the way. I know someone from Child Welfare was getting there as we were leaving. Want me to find out?"

"No, that's okay. I'll call down there. She's also been a valuable part of our investigation, so I want to make sure I can find her if I need to. Thanks for the news."

"Any time, Keller." Carlisle hung up the phone, after which Steve did the same.

He was grateful for the one less thing he had to do - find Mitzi. On the other hand, he was not grateful for the fact that Jasmine was thrown in foster care, simply for the fact that Amy would be heartbroken everything had come down to that. He decided he was too busy to tell Amy until much later in the day anyway - a saving grace.

He turned back and looked at the interview room. Lessing had left, but the team of Tanner and Stone were still going at the suspect, though it didn't look like either of them were losing their cool. _Hopefully we'll get the answer we need_, he thought to himself before turning back to his pile of folders.

Grabbing his notebook, he started making a list of addresses he and Mike would need to call on during the day. At the top he wrote UCSF, then Mitzi Granger's; those would be their first stops. After that, who knew? What he did know was that he needed to get security footage from the grocery store sooner or later, and figuring it might take all day for a lowly store security guard to round it up, Steve got on the phone to get the process started.

* * *

"You know, wanting to take all the blame is admirable. It's the sign of a...strong relationship among people when one will take the heat off the other, even if the other was also involved." Mike smiled at Curtis Howard. "However, when we're talking about murder, it's actually quite stupid. Wouldn't you say that, Bill?" Mike turned and looked at Tanner.

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing like going to jail for someone else's crime."

"What do you mean, 'Someone else's crime'? It was all mine; I'm the only sniper in this town who could pull off something like that," Howard said as if he were boasting.

"Something that you would not have done had someone not paid you," Mike reminded him. "You don't go after people for your own gain. Well, other than monetary."

"Your M.O. is not going after personal targets and you know it," Tanner said.

"Maybe I decided to go after the scum of the town, like a one-man vigilante. That guy was scum, so I got rid of him."

"Why was he scum?" Mike asked, fishing for clues that Howard was hiding something.

"All cheaters are scum! When a man and a woman enter into the vows of holy matrimony, those vows are sacred and eternal. Anyone who breaks them deserves to die and rot in Hell with all the other sinners of the world. It's my place to put them there," he said as if he were declaring his status as God.

Mike and Bill just looked at each other, both realizing they were not dealing with a well man - or one who knew the truth. Mike was pleasantly surprised though - Steve's theory seemed to be coming true right before his eyes.

"The man you shot, Nick Milani, he was a cheater?" Mike asked for clarification.

Howard nodded.

"How did you know that? Was he having an affair with your girlfriend?" Mike said, trying to trap him into revealing he had a 'partner'.

"Because he…" Howard started to say, then stopped. "Because he told me he was."

Mike and Bill looked at each other again, knowing they'd gotten him. All they needed to do now was push until he broke.

"He told you? The victim told you. Hmm." Mike stared at him for a while.

"What?" Howard was getting unnerved by Mike's glare.

"I'm just wondering how that happened, that's all. The man was out of town until a few days ago, and then he was in jail for the rest of the time. Did you visit him? How'd he find you?"

Howard just shrugged.

"Let me lay this out for you," Mike said. "You're looking at 25 to life for this. I suppose that might not mean anything to you now, considering you have nothing to live for…"

"Who says I don't?" Howard interrupted. "My wife is getting close to taking me back!"

"Oh! Pardon me." Mike turned to Bill. "Maybe he doesn't want to be in prison for the rest of his life then."

"I certainly wouldn't. Very few women are willing to wait for a man to maybe get parole in 15 years," Bill added.

Howard looked at Bill Tanner, clearly bothered by what he said.

"There is an alternative though," Mike said. "If you were to admit that someone hired you, your sentence would be greatly reduced. The other guy...he'd probably do more time than you."

Howard looked at Mike. "No life term?"

"I'm not the D.A., but I would feel confident in saying no." At this point, Mike was hardly above lying. "Who hired you?"

Howard looked between Mike and Bill, trying to decide what to do.

"Some twerp," he finally said. "He told me this guy Milani had been tricking his wife into sleeping with him. The guy was at his wit's end. He'd tried dealing with the guy civilly - which never works - but the guy was not letting go of the woman. So he came to me for a final solution. At first I was leary; the guy was in jail. But you know, I like a challenge. Plus, he paid me ten thousand for it. Worth the risk."

"This twerp have a name?" Bill asked.

"Probably...everyone does. He didn't enlighten me, and I didn't care. His money was green."

Mike got into his jacket pocket and pulled out the picture of Paul, Amy, and Karen. "Assuming the man had a face, would you recognize it if you saw it?"

Howard shrugged again.

Mike placed the photograph on the table and pushed it toward Howard, who leaned over and looked at it. "Anyone in this picture hire you?" Mike asked.

"The guy. Yeah, that was him. Looks like a twerp even in pictures. Rich twerp though."

"You're sure?" Mike asked for the record.

"Absolutely. That girl next to him, the brunette? That's his wife. He showed me pictures of her. Pretty girl. I kind of wondered why she'd be with a guy like him, but like I said, he has money."

Mike smiled. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" He stood up.

Lessing knocked on the door and entered. "Here's that list you wanted, Mike," he said before handing Mike the papers and leaving.

Mike took the papers and began looking through them. "So how did you manage to know that Milani was going to be at the emergency entrance of General at that very time? That's not exactly something one can plan on." He sat back down.

Howard just shrugged. "Divine intervention."

"Right. Happens all the time," Mike quipped. No one said anything for a minute while Mike looked through the papers Lessing gave him. "Well, what do we have here?" he finally said.

"What?" Howard asked.

"It seems that a 'Howard Curtis, Esquire' visited Nick Milani in jail the day before he was shot." Mike turned to Bill. "I wonder who that is?" he said sarcastically.

Bill shrugged. "Must be why he didn't want a lawyer."

Nervous, Howard tried changing the subject. "So when do I get my deal?" Howard asked.

"I'm not in charge of deals. That will be between the attorney you didn't want and the D.A." Mike opened the door and yelled for Sekulavich.

* * *

"Will she be back later today?" Steve asked someone on the other end of the phone line. "Well, if she does come back today, will you have her give me a call at the number I gave you? That's right, Inspector Keller. Homicide, yeah. Thank you." He hung up the phone.

For the last ten minutes, he'd been trying any number listed in the folders for the remaining victims. Some he had had luck with. Others, like his latest phone call to Darren Oberlander's mother, were turning into dead ends. He guessed that he and Mike would end up knocking on doors later, hoping they opened to someone who was willing to talk and had information.

As Tanner and Sekulavich led Howard out of the interview room and off to booking, Mike quickly walked over to Steve. He patted him on the shoulder happily.

"I should never doubt your intuition," he told the young man.

Steve looked up at him. "Oh? What happened?"

Mike let the picture fall on his desk. "Positive ID, Buddy Boy! And it happened pretty much like you said it would. Paul told Howard that he wanted the man who was having an affair with his wife dead. Paid him ten thousand to do it."

Steve couldn't help but smile. "I knew it! But how'd he know where to be?"

"I had Lessing get me the visitor log for the jail. Howard visited him once pretending to be a lawyer. I'm guessing that he was somehow able to convince Milani that trying to kill himself would get him out. Sounds like a really great plan, no?"

"The best. So when do we…" Steve was interrupted by his phone. "Keller, homicide"

"Inspector Keller, this is Mildred Kirchner from Glen Johnson's office."

"Hey, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon," Steve said cheerfully.

"I would have called sooner, but, well, I admit. I was a bit apprehensive about going into that office after all this time, so I put it off until this morning."

"I heard that it's been locked for the last two years."

"Oh yes. No one has been in there, not even to clean. Did Amy tell you that?"

"She did. Did you find anything?" Steve asked.

"Actually...yes." Mildred's tone had been more cheery, but upon saying this, it turned sorrowful.

"I take it you found something incriminating."

"Getting into the office was actually no small feat. After you called yesterday, I called Mrs. Johnson to ask for the key. She's the only one who had a key to Glen's office."

"Amy did tell me her mother wouldn't allow anyone in the office."

"She didn't tell you the half of it then! I had to fight like hell, if you'll excuse my language, just to get the key. I thought telling her that the police were asking about Glen's death would get her to open up; I thought she'd actually be sort of, well, not happy, but…"

"I think I know what you mean," Steve told her. "It sounds like several people questioned the circumstances surrounding his death. Mrs. Johnson wasn't one of them?"

"Oh, I don't really know what is going on with that woman. Maybe she's still so overcome by grief that she refuses to even talk about it, but I would think she'd be a little grateful to have definitive answers."

"Well, when it comes to things like this, some people don't handle the truth well; it's too painful for them."

"I suppose. She finally gave me the key, but she was almost furious."

Steve wondered to himself if Amy would end up hearing about it from her mother. It didn't sound like it would be a pleasant conversation, but then he realized her mother wouldn't find her at his place anyway - another saving grace.

"I walked in and at first, it looked like nothing was out of place; it looked the same as it always had. The more I looked around though, the more something bothered me."

"What was that?"

"This picture. It was hanging in the wrong place!"

Steve made a face, wondering what that could possibly have to do with his case. Mike was amused by his reaction.

"It had always hung on the wall closest to the door, but now it was on the opposite wall! I had to stop and wonder if I'd just forgotten Glen moving it; it has been two years."

"And you found…" Steve said, trying to get to the point.

"I walked over to the picture and looked around. On the floor, right below it, looked like pieces of Sheetrock. Odd, right? So I took the picture off the wall and found a huge hole!"

"In the wall? Like, say, the size of someone's head?" Steve was happy that he may have found his crime scene.

"Yes. Poor Glen. How could he have hit the wall that hard? Do you think that young man pushed him?" Mildred asked, half worried, half saddened.

"Could be. Did you lock the office again? If that's a crime scene, I don't want anyone walking through it," Steve told her.

"Oh my, yes. I couldn't stand to look at the place anymore."

"Good, good. Keep it locked until one of us gets there. Oh, and you might not want to tell Mrs. Johnson that you found anything, at least not yet."

"Not to worry, Inspector. I'll let the professionals handle that if there is anything to tell."

Steve thanked her for calling and hung up.

"Until one of us gets where?" Mike asked, suspicious.

"Los Angeles. That was Glen Johnson's secretary. She found a hole in a wall of his office that sounds like it could be our crime scene. The medical examiner did say that he'd hit his head on a flat surface, and Paul was there the Friday before he died arguing with him."

"How does this involve us?" Mike asked.

Steve gave him a curious look. "We go down to LA and look at the scene, determine if it is our crime scene or not." He wasn't sure why he was having to tell Mike this.

Mike shook his head. "No, we don't do anything now. The crime happened in LA, so it's now the LAPD's case. If they determine our suspect is also theirs, and they want or need our help, they'll inform us, but until then, it's their case."

Steve couldn't believe he was hearing this. "But Mike…" he tried to protest, but he was cut off.

"No arguing now. You know it's their case. I don't doubt that it's related to us, but until they prove it…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Steve muttered, dejected.

"You better get them on the phone then and tell them about it. The sooner they start investigating, the sooner we'll know if there's a connection."

Steve was obviously not pleased.

"I know you wanted to be the one to solve Amy's father's murder, but does it really matter who solves it as long as she gets justice?"

Steve simply shook his head. "No, it doesn't," he said, picking up the phone.

"How many other deaths do we still have to look into?" Mike asked.

"Four," Steve told him.

"Okay. I'm going to go down and talk to O'Brien about Curtis Howard while you call LA. I think we'll try to get as many people into the case before we ask for an arrest warrant. Why charge him with one murder when we can get him for six?"

Steve nodded as he reluctantly began giving his case away.


	25. Chapter 25

Their first stop that morning was the University of California - San Francisco to speak with anyone who knew Paul. The first person they sought out was a classmate of Paul's named Victoria Olson. They found her in the midst of teaching a class, so they patiently waited outside the classroom, hoping they wouldn't have to wait for hours. Lucking out, they were soon greeted by several students streaming out of the classroom. Not wanting to fight the tide, they waited until the room was empty before walking in.

Miss Olson was cleaning off her chalkboard when the two came in the room.

"Victoria Olson?"

She turned toward the door. "Yes?"

"I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller from the San Francisco Police Department," he said, showing the lady his badge.

"Oh, yes. My advisor told me to expect you sometime. What was it again that you wanted to discuss?"

"Paul Carpenter. You knew him?" Steve asked.

"Unfortunately," she said with clear disdain in her voice. "What kind of officers are you?"

"Homicide," Mike told her.

"Homicide." Victoria picked up some books off a table near the blackboard. "Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have office hours in ten minutes."

Both men shook their heads and followed her out the door. As they began to walk down a long corridor, Victoria started speaking again. "I'm actually not shocked. I should be; I'd like to think we would all at least have an initial shock when hearing that someone we know is involved in something that heinous, but…"

"You got a bad vibe from him?" Steve asked.

"Have you met him, Inspector?" she asked Steve.

He nodded. "Oh yeah." He recalled the vibe he got off the man during that brief encounter in Amy's kitchen. "He was definitely a little off."

"Exactly. I'm not going to say that I was ever in fear for my life or anything, but he always just sort of gave me the creeps. He was the kind of guy you didn't want to be alone with."

The trio arrived in front of her office. She quickly unlocked the door and let everyone inside the tiny room. It may have been larger than it looked, but it was filled with wall-to-wall books and other learning materials. Looking down at the floor, Steve was surprised he could see it.

"I'm sorry the place is a mess. I'd offer you a chair, but, well…" She looked behind where Mike and Steve were standing. Under two large piles of books, papers, and folders were two chairs...or at least two sets of chair legs. Both men turned around to look. Steve held back a snicker.

"That alright; we don't want to take up too much of your time anyway. How long did you know Paul?" Mike asked.

She set her latest pile of books on her already-crowded desk. "Well, let's see. We started our Master's program together, and that was fall of 71. I guess almost three years, though he left after the summer of 73 session. I haven't seen him in almost a year."

"Left?" Steve asked.

"Left, dropped out...I really don't know. I always kind of wondered if he didn't get expelled, but I never heard one way or the other."

"Why would he have gotten expelled?" Mike asked.

"Oh, any number of things I'd guess. I know that once, one of the female students in the chemistry class he was teaching complained that he'd 'made inappropriate advances' toward her," Victoria said, like she was quoting a police report.

"Really?" Steve said, with a little surprise in his voice.

"Again, I don't know if it's true or not, but I heard that through the rumor mill. Every now and again a disgruntled student who is upset with their grades or their professor will make up some story to either get out of the class or punish the teacher."

"Do you think that's what this was?" Steve asked.

Victoria shook her head. "Not really. Like I said, he creeped me out. I would have been less surprised if I'd heard he got expelled for stealing though."

"Stealing what?" Mike started to think about the mexasofaline.

"Equipment, drugs...I swear he was."

"What makes you think that?" Mike asked.

"He just seemed to spend a lot of time in the drug storage area. It's not uncommon for any of us in the pharmacy program to get in there for a lab, but he was in there at least three times as often as I was, and we had the same classes. There was no reason to be in there that often."

"Would he have had access to a drug called...mesa...hexa...oh, what was that, Steve?" Mike turned to his partner, hoping for an assist.

Steve pulled out his notebook from his inside jacket pocket and opened it. "Mexasofaline," he told Victoria.

"Oh, sure," she told them. "He had the same card I have, which allows me access to the entire area. All you have to do is tell the person in charge of the room what you are there for and then show them what you took on your way out."

"How could he have taken the mexasofaline then? I mean, would he have actually needed that for a class or something?" Steve asked.

Victoria shook her head. "Doubtful. I haven't used three quarters of the drugs in that room. A drug like that is likely only used by the full time researchers, not students."

"How would he have gotten it out then?" Steve was beginning to wonder about the protocols in place at this school.

"Unlike most of what's in that room, which is in pill or liquid form, mexasofaline is a white powder that looks just like every other white powder in the room. I'm not sure if they're supposed to or not, but no one watches what you do while you're in there. And who knows how long it would be before anyone noticed it was missing. Pills are easy to keep track of since you can count them. I'm assuming you are bringing this drug up because you think Paul used it to kill someone. In that case, it wouldn't take much. You could easily sneak out a teaspoon of it and no one would question. Those containers don't get weighed after each person leaves or anything. The storage room guard would have a record of all the times he went in there though if that would help."

"That would," Mike said. "Where can we find that?"

She looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh, they can wait for help. How many times did I ever show up during a professor's office hours to find them gone? Not like freshmen listen anyway. I'll take you," she said, leading the men back out into the corridor.

Upon arrival, Victoria introduced them to the man in charge of security for the room. Mike asked him for records of everyone that went in and out of that room during Paul's time at the school. He then inquired if Paul would have been able to come back after he'd left the school and still get in the room. Victoria assured him that was not possible; he would have had to surrender his access card the second he was not taking classes. If he had gotten in, he would have had to break in. This prompted Steve to inquire about any break-in attempts over the last three years. The security officer assured him there had been none.

While waiting on the visitor logs, Steve asked Victoria how long of a shelf life mexasofaline had. She wasn't sure, so she went back and looked at the container.

"Four years," she said upon returning. "Why?"

"Well, if he stole some of it when he was still a student here, then it would have been sitting around for a while. So it's potent for four years?" he asked her.

"It's still potent after that even, you'd just have to use more of it. It's has a decent length of efficacy as far as drugs like it go. It doesn't take much of that stuff to cause any damage though." She paused, then said, "What a terrible way to go. Quick, but terrible."

"How did you learn about the stuff?"

"Before coming here and focusing on research, I was in a pharmacist program, which I remember him telling me he was as well, at USC I think. I took classes that taught me about different classes of drugs and what they are used for...or misused for. I assume he did the same. Even if he didn't take any classes, that information can be found in many books in a medical library, like the one we have here on campus. If he was specifically seeking out a drug to kill someone with, he could have found it in a recent book of pharmaceuticals."

At that moment, the security officer came back with the log book for the room. He gave it to Mike and he and Steve began heading out to look through it. Once in the hallway, Victoria asked them a curious question.

"Have you talked to his girlfriend yet? She might have more insight into him."

Steve and Mike looked at each other, both curious and a bit surprised.

Victoria chuckled. "I know; I had that same look on my face when he told me about her. I never met her, but she must have either been a highly tolerant person...or a complete kook. The way he talked about her though, she was head over heels for him. I shouldn't say this, but I used to wonder if she was even real. Then one day he showed me a picture of the two of them."

"We just were not aware there was a girlfriend in the picture," Mike told her, explaining his and Steve's surprise.

"Maybe she wised up and left him. I hope so, if he really did murder someone."

"What do you know about her?" Steve asked.

"Hmm...let's see. I remember him saying that she'd come up here to San Francisco with him from LA, but she didn't go to school here. She went to...Berkeley? I think it was Berkeley."

Steve didn't like where this was going.

"She was getting into social work I think it was. She should have gotten him some help. I think her name was...uh...Amanda? No...Anna, Ann…"

"Amy?" Steve sighed.

Victoria thought about it for a moment. "Amy...yeah, I think it was. Amy. I think she had a pretty common last name too, which was one reason I thought he made her up."

"Johnson?" Mike asked this time, jumping in to keep Steve from getting emotional.

Victoria nodded. "It was. Amy Johnson."

Steve, who had grabbed the picture of Paul and Amy off his desk before leaving, pulled it out of his jacket and showed it to Victoria. "Is this her?"

She looked at the photograph and nodded. "Yeah, that's her; I'm sure of it. So you do know about her."

Steve put the picture back in his pocket. "Just didn't know she was his girlfriend."

"Maybe they aren't together then. For her sake, I hope so."

Mike thanked Victoria for her help and time. She left the two standing in the hallway. Mike then looked at Steve for any sign that he was losing his head.

"I'm fine! Honest!" he said, knowing full well what Mike was thinking.

"Just put it out of your head. It just gives us a little more evidence about his mental state, that's all."

Steve tried changing the subject. "Are we going to look through those now?" he asked, indicating the logs Mike had in his hand.

Mike nodded. "The guard told me there is a lounge down the hall. Let's grab some coffee and see what we can find."

* * *

After looking through what seemed like a hundred years' worth of paper, the names of the people and the drugs they took were all starting to blend together. Steve rubbed his eyes. "Did we overlook him? This is ridiculous," he said to Mike.

"No, no. There's got to be something in here; we're just missing it."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. He thought back to the night before, when Amy was asking him about his job. What he was doing now - this was definitely not the exciting part of police work they showed on TV, just like she said about his endless paperwork. He wanted to lay his head down and fall asleep, but then he remembered he was doing this more for her than himself, so he plugged away.

He looked through two more pages before he finally found the name Paul Carpenter. "Oh, I found one!" he told Mike excitedly.

"What's it say?" Mike asked.

"He was in there on February 22 of '73. He took four pills of methocarbamol and five pills of diltiazem. Pills...I guess that wasn't it. Damn."

"That's okay. If there's one, others have to be close. Keep looking."

Both men kept reading. Then Mike found something. "Here's another one. May 16, 1973." He stopped reading, then said, "Never mind. It was all pills again."

Steve shook his head and went back to his reading.

"How about this one?" Mike said moments later. "May 31, 1973. Sixteen milliliters of dextromethorphan."

Steve shook his head. "If it's milliliters, it's liquid. If it were powder, it'd be in milligrams."

"Oh, you college kids," Mike said, ribbing Steve.

"Wait, this looks like it has potential. July 12. He took one hundred milligrams of prednisolone. You suppose that's a white powder?"

"Worth writing down," Mike said. "Let's check for others."

The two checked and double checked for more occurrences, but only found the one time when he took a powder. As Mike took the logs back to the security officer, Steve went to ask Victoria if prednisolone was a white powder like mexasofaline.

"We have a winner," he said to Mike, meeting him in the hall outside the drug storage room. "It's a white powder that looks enough like mexasofaline that no one would have questioned a switch."

"It's enough for probable cause at least. I wonder why he took it back then if he didn't know about Duncan's indiscretions until almost a year later," Mike said.

"He probably planned on using it on someone else. One of the others died summer of '73. Maybe this method was originally intended for them but something went wrong."

"I guess we have a busy day of interviewing ahead of us then," Mike said as the two went to leave.


	26. Chapter 26

Instead of going back to their car, Mike and Steve decided to stop by the administration building and see if anyone could tell them why Paul was no longer a student.

"Care to place a bet on the reason?" Steve asked as they walked through campus, more for something to say than to make an actual wager out of the issue.

"Pretty confident you know the reason, huh? Okay, Buddy Boy, what are we playing for?"

"Well...you first," Steve said, not sure of what he wanted.

"I know something. I have tickets to the four games the Giants are playing the Padres starting on the 17th. The tickets just happen to have your name on them." Mike smiled, knowing Steve wasn't the world's biggest baseball fan.

"Oh really? We're going there, huh? Now I'll have to think of something bigger."

Mike laughed. "Go easy on me, kid. So, why do you think he's no longer here?"

"I'm saying he just left. I can't imagine the creep being comfortable with Amy being at Berkeley where he couldn't watch her all the time. He probably dropped out to pursue stalking as a full time job. You?"

"I believe there was something to that student who accused him of inappropriate behavior," Mike said.

"Really?" Steve had his doubts. "I just can't see him hitting on any other woman. He's much too obsessed with Amy to even look at anyone else."

"Oh, I don't know. Years ago there was a man who was killing women who looked like the girl he was in love with but couldn't have. He'd decided that if he couldn't have his true love, he'd try for the next best thing. Sadly, these women were killed when they rejected him."

"How many did he get?" Steve asked, both saddened and horrified.

"Seven by the time he was arrested. Every one of those women could have been each other's twin. I guess when Miss Olson mentioned that, it brought up the memory of that case. I was just getting started on the force and didn't have much involvement other than being on the lookout for him once they got a description, but it stuck with me."

"Does Paul remind you of that guy?" Steve asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Mike nodded. "In a way. Just a different motive. All for the love of someone who doesn't love them back though."

A cold chill went down Steve's spine. The mere thought that there had been someone else, and who knew how many others, like Paul out there worried Steve. He didn't say another word all the way to the administration building.

The pair arrived and ended up in the student records office. There, a nice older lady spent several minutes trying to locate the file on Paul. Steve stood at the reception desk, growing impatient. He passed the time by incessantly tapping a pen on the counter. Mike kept shooting him looks to let the young man know he did not appreciate the repetitive noise, but Steve only stopped for mere seconds before continuing his rhythm practice. Mike was about to go back and help the lady look when she finally came back to her desk.

"Sorry about the delay, gentlemen. I was looking in the wrong disciplinary section. We don't often have this kind of expulsion, so I neglected to look there at first," she said, setting the file down and opening it.

Steve quietly said _damn_ to himself. Expulsion meant he for sure had lost the bet. "What kind of expulsion?"

"Sexual misconduct."

"Oh. Does it say what he did to get expelled?" Mike asked.

The secretary looked through the file. "Says here that he propositioned one of his students several times. She threatened to report him, and he stopped for a while, but then did it one more time. This time he tried to beat her up. He was then expelled...though I don't see any record of charges being filed. Maybe they just aren't in here."

"When was this?" Mike asked.

"He was expelled August, 1973."

"Is the student he attacked still here?"

The secretary looked at her name in Paul's file, then went to find hers. This time, the search took much less time. "No, it looks like she transferred to Kansas State that fall. Can't say I blame her."

"Is there a picture of her in her file?" Steve inquired, wondering if Mike's theory held any weight.

The secretary nodded and handed Steve a sheet of paper. He looked at it, then showed Mike.

"Looks like a decent ringer to me," he said.

Mike looked at the picture. "She does resemble Amy, doesn't she?"

Steve nodded and handed the picture back to the secretary. Both men thanked her and left the office. On the way out, Steve said, "Guess I'll be going to a baseball game."

"Oh no, not _A_ baseball game...four baseball games," Mike corrected him. Steve shook his head and Mike laughed.

* * *

Since they were close by, their next stop was Mitzi Granger's place. On the way, Steve filled Mike in on what Inspector Carlisle had found on the Duncan's and that they were going to see his girlfriend in hopes that she'd have some information that would help them with a motive for Carl's murder.

Upon arriving at 2420 Judah Street, the two detectives got out of the car and rang the bell for apartment four. A tired-sounding lady answered. Mike told her who they were and that they would like to talk with her. She groaned and released the lock on the front gate.

"Did she just groan?" Steve asked Mike.

"Guess she's not our biggest fan."

The two walked through the gate and to the door marked '4'. Steve knocked and shortly after, a short blonde opened the door. Short and blonde were the only two things that matched the description Steve had read of Mitzi in Jasmine's journal. The Mitzi who stood before him today had on no makeup, appeared to not have brushed her hair in quite some time, and was wrapped up in a ratty blue blanket.

"I thought I'd told you guys everything I knew. Why are you bothering me again?" she said, exhaustion in her voice.

"Actually, we're not from fraud; we're from homicide," Steve told her.

"Oh," Mitzi said, backing up and letting them in her apartment.

Steve looked around at her place as he walked in. It was unkempt and dark. Mitzi hadn't opened any blinds to let light in and hadn't bothered to even put trash in the wastebasket. This, along with her appearance, told Steve she was depressed.

She told them to sit down, but only after throwing candy wrappers off the couch and onto the floor. Both men sat down, hoping they weren't sitting on something since it was too dark to really tell.

"Why would homicide want to talk to me?" she asked, sitting herself on a rickety rocking chair. "Is this related to the fraud investigation?"

"Not completely," Steve told her. "It is about Carl though."

She gave Steve a curious look. "Are you saying Carl was murdered? I thought he died of a heart attack."

"Yes, he was murdered," Mike said.

She tightened the blanket around her. "I suppose his wife thinks I did it or something. I had a feeling she knew."

"Knew what?" Steve asked, although he already knew what.

"About the affair. You knew too, or you wouldn't be here."

"True," Steve said. "But actually she never brought up your name. She thought their nanny did it at first, but we know neither one of you had anything to do with it."

"Amy?" Mitzi asked, disbelief in her voice. She then went from looking at Steve to looking at the wall. "Actually, she probably had more reason than anyone to want him gone, considering what he was doing to her."

"What was that?" Steve asked, again already knowing the answer.

"He was stringing her along. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead...and I shouldn't admit how stupid I am...but the man was a complete asshole. He had her thinking he was helping her get a job, but in reality he was giving her leads to me. Truth is, if some other girl had come along and given him a good roll in the hay, he would have handed them to her, leaving both Amy and me in the dust. Whoever gave him the biggest pleasure got the biggest rewards. Worst part is, I knew it and didn't care. My mother always told me to do whatever it took to get to the top. She'd be proud of me I'm sure." She shook her head. "I know I'm not. I just...this was the one thing I thought I was good at before I went to school, but then I got to Berkeley and suddenly I was failing and having people out in the real world tell me I wasn't cut out for working with teenagers. I even had one person tell me I should seriously consider changing majors before it was too late. It crushed me, but the kids liked me and kept me going back every day. Then I'd watch someone like Amy, who just seems to have a knack for it, and I got scared. I figured I'd never get anywhere without cheating a little. The Amy's of the world would always be there to show me up. So when Carl started coming on to me, promising to help me get a good job...telling me I was the best student he'd ever seen...I fell for it. I really thought he loved me...and I loved him right until Inspector Carlisle came and started asking me about all the things Carl was doing. I don't know why it took a police investigation to knock sense into me. How pathetic is that?"

"Hey, we've all been distracted by charismatic people selling empty promises at one time or another," Steve told her. He felt very sorry for this girl.

Mike, who'd been thinking about how this girl didn't look much older than his Jeannie, began to realize that Jeannie could easily become Mitzi. He knew he'd taught his little girl well in matters such as these - she was a cop's daughter after all - but like Steve said, everyone is susceptible to snake oil salesmen sometimes. As a protective, loving father, it made him both mad that someone like Carl Duncan was allowed to prey on innocent, wide-eyed coeds, and sad that someone so young, with their whole life ahead of them, was feeling like it was over.

"Be proud that you did the right thing in telling Inspector Carlisle all you did. We all make mistakes, but the true test is what you do the next time it comes around. Plus, look how much wiser you are about people now! You'll never be fooled by another Carl Duncan, which I know will help in your career. You'll be able to pass on this knowledge to the kids you work with," Mike told Mitzi, trying to make her feel a little better about herself.

"I suppose," she finally said. "I've worked with enough teenagers to know just about every mistake a kid can make. I just always thought I was smarter than that."

"You're human. Those kids you work with will like the fact that you're not some perfect person trying to tell them what to do with their life. I know it's been awhile since Lieutenant Stone was a teenager," Steve said, patting his partner on the back.

Mike shot him a look.

"But I remember when some righteous older person would try to get me to act the way they wanted me to instead of accepting that we all make mistakes and need to learn from them. I liked the teachers who could admit to not being perfect themselves, you know?" He smiled at Mike.

Mitzi finally turned back to the two and smiled a very slight smile. "I never thought about it that way. So, you don't think Amy killed him? I really wouldn't blame her if she had. Part of me felt bad, and really wanted to tell her what was going on, but, well..." She trailed off, knowing that her choice was obvious. "I guess she already knew."

"No, she actually didn't. She also has an alibi," Steve told her. An alibi wasn't what ruled her out, but Mitzi didn't need to know that. "We're actually looking at other suspects."

"How can I help?" she asked.

"Did you ever see anyone hanging around Carl a lot, or maybe hanging back and watching him?" Steve asked her.

"You mean like following him?"

"Or watching him from a distance, maybe while you two were together."

She rocked back and forth and thought for a while. "Any particular time this would have happened, or place?"

Steve shrugged. "I was thinking on campus, maybe in the last month? I can't be certain of that though."

"Well, there was this one time, but it was at a restaurant down by Lake Merced."

"Tell me about it," Steve said, pulling his notepad out of his jacket.

"We generally didn't go out on 'dates' anywhere near Berkeley or his house because he was afraid someone he knew would see us and that would have cost him his career. That should have been my first clue that it wasn't exactly true love, huh?"

Steve agreed, but just shrugged again. Getting into a philosophical debate about love wouldn't get this investigation moving.

"So we'd end up at the south end of town, or up in Marin County. This day, we were down at this little café close to the lake. We were seated at a little table for two that was off in the corner of the room. Carl was facing the wall, but I was facing the rest of the room. There was a guy sitting across the room that seemed to keep staring at us. He was sitting by himself, so I just thought he was people watching to pass the time. But the more I'd look over at him, the more he seemed to be staring at us. It made me very uncomfortable. After we ate, we took a walk around the lake. I had this weird feeling that we were being followed, and I swear I saw that same guy again."

"Please don't think I'm trying to pry or anything, but at the time, were you two...being romantic? Trust me, it's an important part of the investigation," Steve said, feeling like he was being a creep.

At first, Mitzi was quiet, not wanting to say, but then she remembered what Mike said about feeling proud for telling the truth. "Yeah, I mean, as much as anyone else does in public I guess." She blushed out of embarrassment.

"Would you recognize the guy if you saw him again?" Steve asked.

"I might; it wasn't all that long ago."

"When was it?" Mike asked as Steve got out the picture.

"Um...about a week or so before Carl died." She took the picture from Steve and after a second, nodded. "Yeah, that looks like him. He had on a baseball cap, but I can still tell this is him. Wait, he knows Amy?" She handed Steve the picture.

Steve nodded and stood up. Mike followed suit.

Mitzi also stood up. "Did I help any?" she asked.

Steve smiled. "Yeah, you were a big help. Thank you."

The three walked to the door and Mike and Steve were about to leave when Mike turned back to Mitzi. "I hope you're going to stay in school even after everything that has happened. The world needs individuals who care about helping young people, and I think you're the perfect candidate."

She smiled. "Really? Thanks; that means a lot. I haven't decided yet...last time I was on campus, people in the department kept giving me looks. Hell, I probably would give someone like me looks too."

"Don't let them get to you. You're not there to please them; you're there to help kids. Remember that," Mike said, patting her on the shoulder.

"I will, Lieutenant." She stood at the door and the guys walked out of her apartment and toward the front gate. "Oh, Inspector Keller?" she said.

Steve turned around. "Yeah?"

"You know Amy? I mean, do you talk to her?"

Steve just sort of nodded.

"Could you tell her I'm sorry?" Mitzi looked like she was about to cry.

"Actually, I'll do you one better. After this investigation is over, I'll give her your address and send her over here. I know she'd love to help you through school if you want the help."

"After all I did to her?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "After I tell her everything, she won't blame you; I know she won't." Steve felt like he was taking a big leap with that statement - he assumed she wouldn't, but in truth, he didn't know her well enough to swear on it. He just didn't feel she was the vengeful type.

"I'd love her help. Like I said, she always made it look easy."

Back at the car, Steve looked at Mike and said, "Nice pep talk there, Dad."

"She just seemed so sad and regretful. Plus, I kept thinking about how I'd feel if it were Jeannie."

"Jeannie wouldn't fall for that garbage," Steve told him, getting in the driver's seat.

Mike shut the passenger door. "I would hope not. Still, as a father, you worry about predators like Carl Duncan being out there. You know you taught your kids well, but you still worry."

Steve pulled the car away from the curb and headed back east. "I'd hate to see what you'd do to a guy like Carl Duncan if he did anything to Jeannie." Steve made a face, imagining the beatdown. "Of course, he wouldn't be safe around me either."

"I think I'll call her tonight. You know, just to check up on her."

Steve smiled, knowing that Jeannie would wonder why her father was all concerned and reminding her to stay away from creeps, but glad that he cared all the same.

"You know who should be careful though?" Mike said.

"Who?"

"You, if you make another crack about my age again."

Both men laughed as Steve drove on.


	27. Chapter 27

Before heading to their next stop, Berkeley to talk with Brenda Mason's sister, Steve asked if they could make a slight detour. Mike, sensing that Steve was a bit worried about Amy, agreed.

They first headed to Steve's, where he quietly opened the front door and found her asleep on the couch. Not wanting to wake her, he grabbed her keys out of her purse as silently as possible and snuck out. He then drove to her apartment to grab her some clothes. Mike insisted on going up to her apartment with Steve. Once they got to her door, Mike started looking around the door and the hall.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked as he unlocked the door.

"Looking to see if our suspect did indeed make a late-night call last night."

"Good idea. I bet he was pretty mad if he did and found her not here," Steve said, looking at the doorknob and door jamb for any sign of forced entry.

"I'd say you were right, Buddy Boy," Mike said, pointing to the bottom of the door.

Steve looked down and saw a roughly six inch diameter hole at foot level. "Great. Well, at least he probably didn't get in that way, and it's too far down to reach through and unlock the door...though I think we better look around first," he said, his hand now on his gun.

He walked around the apartment, ready to pull the gun out of its holster if needed, but neither he nor Mike found any evidence that anyone had been in there.

Steve picked up the phone off Amy's bedroom floor and set it back on the nightstand. "Remind me to thank the building manager for installing good door locks, though he may want to invest in more solid doors." Steve opened Amy's closet and began looking around for a suitcase.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Paul broke his foot," Mike commented.

Steve found a suitcase and pulled it out, setting it on the bed and opening it. He then went back to the closet. He stared at it for a while.

Mike noticed. "They're not going to pack themselves, you know," he teased.

"What do I take? You know how women are about their clothes. If I take the wrong thing, she'll be disappointed or annoyed."

"Oh, she wouldn't say that to you," Mike scoffed.

"Maybe not, but …"

"Oh, you youngsters, worrying so much about disappointing the other one about every little thing."

Steve groaned. "You're not going to give me another 'Take it from an old married man' speech, are you?"

"You could learn a lot from me, you know! Especially if this is getting pretty serious, which I think it is."

"Oh, you do, huh?"

"Yes I do!" Mike looked at Steve, who was looking at him like a worried child who'd just disappointed his father. "And I think it's great," he added.

Steve then looked at Mike as if he didn't believe him.

"No, really. She's a nice girl, and she needs someone like you in her life," Mike told him, grabbing tops and dresses out of Amy's closet and laying them on the bed. "Start folding."

Steve started folding what Mike was laying on the bed. "Someone like me? What do you mean by that?"

"Someone caring. Someone who is concerned for her wellbeing. Someone who will be there when she needs a shoulder to cry on. On the other hand, you could use someone like her in your life as well."

"I may regret asking this, but how so?"

"She's grounded." Mike grinned at Steve as he placed some slacks and jeans on the bed.

"I see. I bet I can fix that," Steve said playfully.

"You leave that girl alone," Mike warned in a joking manner. "Finish folding these things up, then be sure to grab undergarments and stuff from the bathroom. I'm going to see if any of the neighbors heard anything last night or if they've seen Paul around since."

Steve looked at the clothes on the bed. "You're sure this is what I should take?"

Mike just looked at him as if to say, _You're doubting me_?

Steve shook his head and went back to his folding. After Mike left, he looked over at Amy's dresser. "Undergarments?"

Mike went up and down the hall knocking on doors. He was surprised to see many people home on a Tuesday morning. One neighbor did hear a lot of banging around midnight, but was half asleep and did not bother to get up and investigate. Another neighbor heard a man in the hallway shouting and banging around the same time and was annoyed by it, so he went out to the hallway and yelled at the man to go away. Mike asked the neighbor to describe the man he chased away. The man's description fit Paul to a T, including the bouquet of flowers and bottle of wine he had. None of the people Mike interviewed had seen Paul today, so Mike gave them his card and asked if they did see him again to call.

After talking to neighbors for twenty minutes, including telling the manager that Amy's apartment needed a new front door right away, Mike went back and found Steve in her bedroom closing the suitcase. "Ready?"

"I feel like I violated her privacy or something, going through her medicine cabinet and drawers like that," he told Mike.

"You'll get over that one sooner or later, when her medicine cabinet becomes your medicine cabinet."

"Did anyone see anything?" Steve asked, following Mike out of the room and quickly changing the subject.

"The guy next door did. Chased him off for making a racket in the hall. I gave everyone I talked to my card and told them to call if they saw him anywhere around here."

"I hope he has the guts to show his face around here again so we can nail him for good," Steve muttered as he locked the front door.

* * *

_She opened her eyes, thinking she heard a strange noise. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing but a clock ticking and the refrigerator whirring, so she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep._

_Then she heard it again. It sounded like something had fallen over. She sat up and looked around the living room. He doesn't have a cat, does he? she wondered._

_She got up off the couch and started looking around. Not sure where the noise had come from, she checked the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. She even checked the closets in case something had fallen off a shelf. Nothing seemed out of place. She went back into the bedroom, thinking she'd give napping on the bed another try. She noticed the window was open._

"_Did Steve open that window?" she asked no one. She didn't remember him doing that, but then maybe he did before she woke up. It made her uneasy, so she closed and locked it. Then she felt one hand on her shoulder and another over her mouth._

"_Found you," a voice whispered in her ear._

_She tried to scream, but she suddenly had no voice. She tried to thrash about and get loose, but her muscles didn't seem to work. _

_He turned her around and threw her up against the wall. She hit it with a thud, hitting it with her head more than anything. "Ugh," she groaned as the pain from the impact spread throughout her head. The pain delayed her reaction time and caused her to not try and run off. He put his hands on the wall, one hand on each side of her. _

"_Looks like you're trapped," he told her._

"_How did you find me?" she asked in barely a whisper._

"_Where else would you have gone? You ask enough people if they know someone you're looking for, and you're bound to find someone who knows...especially when you're looking for a cop. People hate cops." He laughed. "You actually thought you were safe with one."_

"_Please, just go away," she begged him. "You can't make me love you."_

"_Yes I can. If I'm the only one around, you'll have to love me." He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him. "You think after I'm done with you, Pretty Boy will want you anyway? He doesn't want you now and you're still 'pure.' I take that away, you can forget all about him."_

"_He never said that," she said, defending Steve._

"_Why would he? He wants you to think he's a good guy! That's his game. It's the same game they all play...all except me of course." _

_She started hitting him and trying to push him away, but he was stronger and barely budged. He put his lips against hers but found it difficult to get an actual lock on her lips because she kept shaking her head. He eventually grabbed her head and held it still while he tried once more._

_She put her hands around his throat and squeezed. She didn't care if she killed him. Losing air, he let go, so she did the same. As he coughed and gasped for air, she tried to run off, but he grabbed the skirt of her nightgown. This caused her to fall flat on the floor. As she instinctively put out her arms to brace for the fall, she fell on her left wrist wrong. She heard a snap, then screamed out in pain._

_He continued to cough, but while regaining his composure, he walked over to where she was lying and turned her onto her back. _

"_You like it rough, huh?" he growled, undoing his belt._

_She tried to wiggle away, but he grabbed her ankle and held on so tight that she began losing feeling in her foot. _

_He laughed and laid his body on top of hers. _

_She cried, feeling like his weight was not only crushing her body, but her soul as well. "Just let me go."_

"_So I leave for one minute, and this is what I come back to?" a voice above her said._

"_Help me!" she pleaded with the source of the voice. _

"_Doesn't look like you need __**my**_ _help. You seem content enough."_

_She kept reaching for him, but he kicked her away. "You disgust me," was all he said before leaving her there._

"Don't leave me..." she moaned in her sleep.

"Amy, Honey, wake up," Steve said.

"You can't just leave me here! I don't love him! Get him away from me!"

"Amy...AMY! Wake up!"

She jerked, threw her eyes open, and saw Steve had a hold of her arms. Her heart was pounding and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked at Steve with fear in her eyes.

"You...you left me. You said I disgusted you."

"What?"

"He was attacking me." She turned her head and looked over toward the bedroom. "Right over there," she explained, pointing. "He was trying to rape me again and you acted like I was cheating on you or something. He did say you wouldn't want me after he was done with me…"

"Oh, just stop right there and look at me."

Amy turned her head back toward Steve.

"It was a dream. Just a dream. Not real. He's not here. If I had walked in and found that scene, I sure as hell wouldn't have thought _that_! I would have killed the guy instead."

She tried to sit up. Her left wrist ached, but she realized it wasn't broken. She let her head fall back on the couch and let out a sigh. "This was the wrist he sprained. It still hurts every now and then. I guess the pain got to my subconscious." She turned back toward the bedroom. "He came in through the bedroom window. Said someone told him where I was. Can he get in the window?" she asked, panicking.

"Not without a ladder."

She didn't look convinced, so he pulled her up and took her into the bedroom. There, he walked her to the window and locked it in front of her.

"Now if he tries, he'll have to break the glass." He drew her into a hug. "It was just a dream. He's not going to find you here, and I'm not going to react that way whether he's here or not."

"Do you know where he is?" she asked.

"Well, technically, no. I know he's not at your place, because Mike and I were just there. He had been there though."

She pulled away and looked at him. "When?"

"Last night. Your neighbor chased him away around midnight. It was a good thing you left. It didn't look like he was too happy you weren't home."

"How so?"

"He kicked a hole in your front door."

Her eyes got big. "Did he get in?" she asked fearfully.

Steve shook his head. "Mike told your manager that you needed a new door right away though. You might want to tell Karen not to go home for a while."

"That would be fine if I knew where she was. He probably won't go back there anyway. He knows I left for good, and I'm sure he knows I'm with you. Oh God, it's just a matter of time…"

"Before we arrest him," Steve said, finishing her sentence with his own thought. "We are getting very close. Once we fill in a few more holes, we'll get an arrest warrant and everything will be fine."

"If you say it will be fine, I'll try my hardest to believe it."

Steve laughed. "That's a big step for you." He sat her down on the bed and then sat beside her. "Hey, I'm sorry about this morning. I suppose my leaving like that didn't help your dream much. I didn't mean to scare you. Hell, I ended up scaring _myself_. I told Mike he should take me off the case."

"Because of me?" Amy asked sadly.

"More how I react concerning you. I just...I worry about you a lot, so when something hurts you, it makes me mad. I'm working on it."

"So Mike's letting you stay on the case?"

"Yeah. It'll be over soon, and then I can stop worrying about who's stalking you and murdering people in some twisted show of affection."

"I hope you'll still worry about me. I mean, I hope you still want to even though you don't need me anymore."

"Not need you?" He leaned over and kissed her. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said through the kiss.

"I'm not trying...though I suppose it doesn't look that way."

Steve sat back. "No, it doesn't, because I don't listen to what your fears are telling you. You shouldn't either. Oh, I brought you some clothes. The suitcase and toiletry bag are in the living room." He stood up. "And if it's not what you want...blame Mike; he picked everything out."

"Why him?"

"Well...you know how many things you have in that closet of yours? I just knew I'd grab the wrong stuff."

"Whatever you brought is fine; I don't own anything I won't wear. Tell Mike I appreciate his assist. Is he outside?"

Steve nodded and walked toward the bedroom door. "He's probably wondering where I am."

"You better get back to work then."

"Are you going to be okay?" Steve asked, concerned that she would sit and dwell on the nightmare all day.

"Yeah. Like you said, it was just a dream. I'm back to reality now."

"Okay. Why don't you get cleaned up and eat something. That'll make you feel better. Anything in my kitchen is yours. I hope I brought everything you'll need; I grabbed all the makeup and stuff you had in your bathroom."

"Thanks. I'll be fine. Go fill in your holes and end this for me. If I'm going to be living here, I'd rather not do it because I'm hiding."

"If I would have known that, I would have brought your whole closet. Or maybe none of it." He winked at her before walking out the door.

"Oh, get out!" she said, playfully throwing a pillow at him as he left. _Bad-dream-Paul is wrong_, she thought, smiling. If she wasn't sure of anything else, she knew Steve could always make her feel better.

He popped his head back in the bedroom. "Do you like baseball?" he asked.

She wasn't sure where this was coming from. "As much as the next girl, I guess. Why?"

"Oh, I made a bet with Mike and I lost, so now I have to go with him to four Giants games. If I have to go, you're coming with me so I have someone prettier to look at than a bunch of baseball players."

"That sounds like fun actually. I always had a good time when I'd go with my dad to Dodgers games."

Steve groaned. "I am not telling Mike you said that! See you tonight."

Once she heard the front door close, she fell back on the bed. The place was suddenly eerily quiet. She grabbed another pillow and hugged it, knowing she was in for a long, tiring day of listening for strange noises.


	28. Chapter 28

"Maid or butler?" Steve asked as he and Mike stood in front of an elaborate mansion door.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Who's going to answer the door - the maid or the butler? I need to redeem myself after the last wager."

"You just can't stand it that you lost, huh? Alright then, maid."

"Butler. Huge place like this has both, and the butler is always the one who answers the door."

"Spend a lot of time in mansions, do you?" Mike teased.

The front door opened. "Forgive me for the delay, gentlemen. I was attending to Mrs. Mason's guests," an older black lady in a gray maid's uniform said. "What can I help you with?"

Mike showed her his badge and introduced himself and Steve.

"We're here to speak with Cynthia Mason," Steve told her.

"I got it, Bernice," a small, very skinny blonde said as she came down the staircase behind them.

Bernice excused herself and Cynthia came outside. "I hope you guys don't mind talking out here. _Mumsy_ is having tea. Plus, I really don't want her to know I'm talking to you," Cynthia explained.

"Why is that?" Mike asked.

"She would just prefer Brenda and her 'mistakes' stay dead and buried."

"That seems harsh for a mother to say," Steve said. "No son or daughter is perfect."

"They should be when you have a reputation to uphold though. Money is supposed to buy that perfection. Instead, what it buys is a lifetime of not being good enough for the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. It buys people who are paid to pretend to love you. It buys you a future of wanting to kill yourself because you just don't care anymore," Cynthia said, squinting at Mike and Steve because of the brightness, though it was more overcast than sunny. She stood with her arms folded over her chest, rubbing her arms like she was cold.

"Did Brenda feel that way?" Steve inquired.

"I suppose. There are many ways to feel that. Her way of coping was to blow through Mommy and Daddy's money as fast as she could. She lived that fast as well."

"How so?" Mike asked.

"She partied like there was no tomorrow. She'd screw any guy who was decent looking. She snorted excitement up her nose every day. I think she just wanted to get a reaction out of them. Make them notice that she existed. They'd just throw more money at her. No one was surprised when she OD'd...except me."

"Oh?" Mike's curiosity was piqued.

"She wasn't like that, you know, deep down. She was a good person with a good heart. No one was interested in that side though. No one noticed her until she became a drugged-up whore, and if they did, it was only because her last name was Mason. By the time anyone seemed to care about the real her, she was so far gone. But she wasn't _that_ far. There was no way...just...no."

The girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. Steve had seen that look so often lately that he felt like an expert on it. "Don't think I'm sounding like I don't believe you, but what makes you feel that way when everyone else doesn't?"

"Because she was trying to get better. I saw it. She was trying to stop drinking, stop doing the drugs, stop the one night stands...she wasn't very good at it, but she was trying. She told me it was for me. For some reason she got real scared that I was going to go down that same path. I mean, we did have the same shitty parents and all. I think she would have made it too, if it hadn't been for that guy she met."

Steve and Mike looked at each other. "Guy?" they said, almost in unison.

"I don't think he was really a boyfriend in the traditional sense...but then she really never had a boyfriend in the traditional sense." She drifted off in thought, but quickly came back. "Anyway, I think he was more of an enabler than anything. I don't know where she met this guy, but she swore he was trying to help her. Sure, because bringing drugs to an addict is helpful."

"You saw this guy supply her with drugs?" Mike asked.

"One night, probably about a week before she died, I went to her apartment because I'd just had another fight with my mother and had to get out of the house. I'd been there all of five minutes and this guy walks in."

"What did he look like?" Steve asked.

"Scrawny bastard. _I_ could have probably kicked his ass. Looked like the nerd type, but without the horn-rimmed glasses. Actually, he kind of looked like a cross between a nerd and one of those perverts who wears a raincoat and asks if you want to buy a Rolex."

Steve snickered. If Cynthia was describing Paul, he couldn't have agreed with her more.

"No, really. Weird dude. Gave me the heebie-jeebies. When he comes in, he's got his hands stuffed into his pockets and won't take them out. Brenda pulls him into the kitchen, and they're all hush hush in there. I'm a snoop, so I go see what they're doing. He pulls out this bag of white stuff and hands it to her. In my infinite wisdom, I burst in there and start yelling at her for using and at him for supplying. She claims it's powdered sugar, like I'm an idiot. I took it from her and ran out."

"You don't happen to still have the stuff, do you?" Steve asked.

Mike gave him a curious look, not certain why he'd ask that question.

"I'm just thinking if she still had it, we could have it tested for something other than…"

"Cocaine," Cynthia told him.

"Like, maybe she got a batch that had been tainted on purpose, possibly by this guy...or someone with access to an entire room of pharmaceuticals..."

Mike gave him a look like this idea was nice, but close to impossible.

"Actually, I do. Strange, I know. But I hid it in my closet and frankly I forgot about it until now. I'll go get it if you want," Cynthia told them.

"I'll get it if you'll just show me where it is," Steve said.

Cynthia nodded and led them into the house. As they walked up the stairs, Steve asked her if she'd recognize the guy if she saw him.

"Oh, definitely. Never forget that face. You have him in one of those mugshot books or something?"

He pulled out the picture of Paul and showed it to Cynthia.

"That's him alright," she said as she led the men into her bedroom and over to a large walk-in closet. She got onto the floor and started digging through a pile of shoes and shoe boxes. She found the one she was looking for and handed it to Mike. "It's in here under a bunch of photos. You can take the whole box if you want."

"We'll get the photos back to you soon," Steve told her.

"Eh, what's the hurry? They're pictures I took from Brenda's apartment; I doubt they mean anything to me anyway."

"Thanks for talking to us," Steve said as they walked down the stairs to leave. "I know it can't be easy, even after two years."

"If you prove me right, it's worth it. I just could never believe she gave up."

The two men walked out the front door, but Steve turned back to Cynthia. "What do you do to cope?"

Cynthia let out a small chuckle. "I hide in my room and don't eat. Shocking, right?" she said, looking down at her skinny frame.

"Well, maybe we'll give you a reason to start."

Cynthia smiled shyly and closed the door. Steve walked on to the car, where Mike was already standing.

"Am I missing something here? What are we going to do with cocaine that Brenda didn't even use?" Mike asked Steve.

"In her file, there is a list of all the evidence that was found around her body. One piece of evidence was a bag of cocaine that was on the coffee table. I checked, and that bag is still in evidence. No one did anything with it other than store it away once this case was declared an overdose. I'm thinking, if this bag, which she got from Paul, matches the stuff they found by her body, _and_ we can get prints off either bag, we've got definitive proof he killed her. Plus, I bet the stuff is tainted. Not like he didn't have free access to poisons two years ago. He hadn't left UCSF yet."

"Smart thinking...although you really shouldn't bet anymore today. You're already buying the hot dogs at the games thanks to that maid or butler bet." Mike laughed as he got in the car.

* * *

After dropping off the cocaine sample at the lab for testing and comparison to the bag in evidence, Mike and Steve headed to Cosmo, the bar on California Street where Shannon Whitney died five months prior. They were meeting her sister Lynda and best friend Joanne Kordel there to discuss the night of the party.

As they walked in, they were greeted with an upscale-looking establishment filled with professional-looking people on their lunch breaks.

"I pictured something a little less classy to be honest," Steve said.

"Why?" Mike asked.

"I don't know; this place just doesn't say drunken college party to me. At least none I went to."

The two were soon approached by a girl who reminded Steve of Amy, only less attractive, wearing way more makeup, and with shorter hair. "You must be Inspector Keller," she said to Steve in a less-than-subtle flirtatious manner.

Mike wanted to burst out laughing, but held it inside.

"Um, yeah, I am. This is my partner, Lieutenant Stone. And you are…?"

"Joanne Kordel. It's so nice to meet you," she said, staring right into his eyes. "Follow me."

As she walked ahead, Steve whispered to Mike, "Don't you even start."

"Who said anything?" Mike said, still trying to hold in his laughter.

They sat down at a high, round table for four that was by a window. Steve found himself sitting across from whom he presumed was Lynda Whitney. The lady was looking out the window and didn't even acknowledge that anyone had sat at the table with her.

Joanne naturally sat right next to Steve; she even moved the chair closer to him. She reached over and patted Lynda on the shoulder. "Sweetie, the detectives are here."

Lynda turned around. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was red, another look Steve was familiar with. "Oh, sorry. I didn't hear you come in," she said quietly.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, concerned with Lynda's appearance.

"Oh, she's fine!" Joanne squealed. "She's just the emotional type."

All three looked at Joanne, disbelieving she'd said what she did. She seemed unfazed.

"I bet it's hard coming back here, considering," Steve said to Lynda.

"You'd think after five months, it would be okay now, but it's not."

"We could have met somewhere else," Mike said.

"No, it's fine, really. Some days are just harder than others, no matter where I am," Lynda said.

"Were you and your sister close?" Mike asked her.

Lynda nodded. "We were. Actually, my whole family was close. We all miss her a lot."

"So," Joanne started, looking only at Steve, "you think her death wasn't an accident?"

"We recently got some information that led us to believe it might not be," Steve said, feeling uncomfortable having this woman staring at him. "You were both here that night?" He tried to look at Lynda and ignore Joanne.

Lynda nodded.

"Did you see anyone suspicious paying extra attention to Shannon, or maybe someone you didn't know talking to her that night?"

Lynda seemed to be staring off into space.

"There was a guy I saw trying to talk to her, but she blew him off. Totally out of her league. Persistent guy though," Joanne said.

"What did he look like?" Steve asked.

"Nothing like you, Handsome," Joanne cooed.

Mike jumped in and attempted to save Steve. He could tell his partner was growing more uncomfortable with the attention, something he never thought he'd see.

"What color was his hair, how tall was he, things like that," Mike prompted.

"Well, it was dark in here...but I think his hair was kind of dark. More dark than blond? I don't know; I didn't pay much attention to him because I knew he wouldn't get anywhere with her. I just remember him coming back again and again," Joanne said.

"If we're talking about the same guy, he was about five-nine or ten maybe, sandy blond hair. Not light, but not dark. Before he approached her at the bar, he sat back there," Lynda said, pointing to the opposite side of the bar, "and stared at her. He watched her for a good hour. I thought it was sort of creepy, but then Shannon was a beautiful girl. Guys stared at her all the time."

"This guy have something to do with her fall?" Joanne asked.

"I did see them arguing outside later that night, around midnight, maybe later," Lynda said.

"Do you know what they were arguing about?" Mike asked.

Lynda thought for a moment.

"She was probably telling him to leave her alone," Joanne said.

Lynda shook her head. "No, it was something about her internship. He was accusing her of stealing it from someone else. He kept telling Shannon that she didn't deserve it; this other girl did. He was really mad about it, too. Eventually Shannon told him to go to hell or something and walked off. Next time I saw her, she was…" She gestured like she was falling down a flight of stairs.

"Did you hear the name of the girl they were arguing about?" Steve asked.

"I'm pretty sure it was Amy Johnson. No idea why I remember that; I never met her, but I know she was up for the same internship. Shannon had talked about her. I don't know who this guy was though; her boyfriend or something I guess. I just know he was angry."

"Who found Shannon?" Mike asked.

"I did," Joanne said, almost excitedly.

Lynda rolled her eyes. "I was the first _sober_ person to find her. You thought she was sleeping," she said to Joanne in a nasty tone.

"Did you happen to see this guy around then, like perhaps sticking around to make sure she was dead?" Steve asked.

Lynda shook her head.

Joanne also shook hers. "I was perhaps a little inebriated." She tried to laugh it off.

Steve took out the picture of Paul and showed it to the two ladies.

"That's the guy," Lynda said. "You know, now that you bring up murder, it doesn't surprise me. That anger...that's what's stuck with me all these months. The other stuff comes and goes, but that anger in his eyes…" She shook her head, trying to get the vision out. "What could she have done to make that man so angry?"

"Shut him down, denied him, told him she'd rather die than date him…"

Lynda shot Joanne the dirtiest look Steve or Mike had ever seen. Joanne just shrugged.

The mood was growing uncomfortable, so Mike handed Lynda his card, telling her that they would probably be in touch when they got any definitive answers for her. She thanked them both for looking into it. Joanne made one more attempt to get Steve's attention, but he was so annoyed by her that he just walked away.

"Some people," Steve muttered once he got outside.

"And I was going to book you a chapel," Mike teased.

"Oh, please. With friends like her, who needs enemies? Trying to find her friend's killer, and she's trying to pick up a date."

Mike laughed. "There was a time when you would have been more receptive to her advances. Maybe I should book that chapel after all."

Steve snickered at Mike's second sentence, then thought about his first. "Wait a minute. You don't think I'm that shallow, do you?"

"You and a pretty girl…"

"A little intelligent conversation goes a long way, Mike." Steve wandered over to the stairs next to the bar. He stood at the top and looked down. "What a terrible way to go." He then looked up at the building, the building next to it, and then turned around and looked at the bank across the street.

"What are you thinking?" Mike asked him.

"Security cameras. No one bothered to check if there were any in the area that might have caught this area right here since it wasn't a homicide. There's got to be at least one that caught something. Banks have cameras everywhere," he said, pointing across the street. "Maybe one caught even a glimpse of Paul."

Mike agreed it was worth a check, so the two split up, checking all the businesses in the area that might have cameras.

* * *

Upon returning to the station, they immediately went to have the security footage they had obtained analyzed. As they were dropping it off, one of the technicians told them he had something they needed to see.

"I was going through the security footage from the grocery store," the man started.

"It came already?" Steve asked, surprised at the quick turnaround.

"Yeah. The footage was extremely organized, too. Made my job that much easier. Okay, look at this," he said, pulling up some footage. "This is the entrance from inside the store. At 4:07 PM, in walks your victim and child. She grabs a basket and walks out of view. All of one minute later, in walks your suspect. He pauses and looks around, sees what he wants, I'm guessing the victim, and walks out of view."

"Does he have his hand in his coat?" Mike asked, squinting at the screen.

"Looks that way. Probably hiding the tainted tea." Steve just shook his head. He couldn't believe how much planning Paul put into this murder.

"Is that all you could find?" Mike asked. "That's nice and all, but…"

"Oh, ye of little faith," the technician said. He walked the guys over to another monitor. "This store is obviously very prepared for theft, as they have a camera looking down every single aisle. Fortunately, the security team has the footage labeled so I didn't have to wade through footage of the beer aisle just to get to something I want." He brought up some new footage. "This is the aisle with the tea. 4:18 PM, here comes your victim."

Steve watched Amy doing exactly what she said she did - she was dragging Jasmine into the aisle and the little girl was stomping her feet, throwing a fit. Amy then stood in front of the tea looking for the box she wanted, grabbing it when she found it. Jasmine ran down the aisle. Amy turned around and, upon seeing Jasmine running off, called out to her. The girl came slowly walking back to her nanny. Amy knelt down to Jasmine, her back to the camera. She set her basket down on the floor next to her while she talked to the girl.

"And here comes your suspect, hand still in his coat. Even though he's not really turned to the camera, it seems pretty obvious what he's doing," the technician said.

Steve watched as Paul slowly took his hand out of his coat. There was a box in his hand. He looked around and slowly approached Amy, who was busy paying attention to Jasmine. He quickly dropped the box into Amy's basket and pulled out the one she'd taken off the shelf. Paul put the original box back on the shelf and quickly left the aisle. Jasmine watched him the whole time until Amy diverted her attention.

"O'Brien can't say we don't have enough evidence on this one," Mike commented.

Steve smiled. "We've got this guy dead to rights, Mike. We got him!"

"What else did you bring me?" the technician asked, indicating the other footage they had just brought.

"We're looking for the same guy, but this time we need him in front of a bar pushing a woman down some stairs," Mike told him. "We got stuff from all around the bar, so you'll probably have to piece things together."

"I like a challenge. I'll get right on it, let you know what I find," he said.

Mike and Steve left and walked out to the hallway. "I've never seen you so happy over a case," Mike told his partner.

"I've never been so happy to get a murderer off the streets. This guy has been given free rein to do whatever he wants for too long." He paused. "Amy can have her life back now."

Mike smiled at his partner smiling. "Come on, Buddy Boy. Let's go make sure we have all our ducks in a row so that he'll never get out and bother her again."


	29. Chapter 29

Amy decided she needed to relax a little, and a bath sounded like the solution. It would also be much easier on her feet, so she went out to the living room and grabbed her suitcase. She set it down on the bed and opened it. The first thing she saw was Mr. Sniffles sitting on top. She laughed, took him out, and gave him a hug before setting him down on the bed. She then looked at what Steve had brought her. Again she laughed, this time thinking about his worry over what to bring her, and his making Mike do the picking.

Grabbing something to wear, she took her choice into the bathroom. She started to fill up the tub but then realized she didn't have anything to put in the water. She didn't figure a man would have bubble bath sitting around, but maybe there was something hiding in the medicine cabinet, so she stood up and started looking through it. It was a quick check, because she felt funny going through his private stuff.

Then she started looking through what appeared to be a linen closet, though it looked more like a closet to store anything that had no other place. Besides grabbing towels, she also managed to find a sample bottle of Avon bubble bath. Amy assumed that some aggressive Avon lady must have assumed a woman lived here and tried to sell Steve cosmetics. Then she got to thinking - maybe a woman did live here at one time. This could have been a left over remnant of a former flame. Amy didn't like the thought - it bothered her enough to give her a knot in her stomach.

"Oh, this is stupid. It's just bubble bath," she said, reprimanding herself. "Who the hell gets jealous over bubble bath?"

She'd been on her feet enough for them to hurt, so she went back into the bathroom and turned the water back on, dumping the bubble bath into the water and watching the suds grow. She threw her hair up with a rubber band she found in her suitcase and, after a while, undressed and climbed into the tub. The hot water stung her feet and she cringed.

"I'm never walking barefoot outside again," she muttered as she settled in. She leaned her head back and tried to relax. She propped her feet up on the side of the tub, out of the water, and sat in silence. Only it was too silent, and she found herself over-listening for noises.

"I should have brought in a radio," she said. Since she didn't have any external noise to distract her, she had to turn to internal noise. She got to wondering about where Paul could be hiding himself. Considering she didn't even know that he was in San Francisco, she had no idea if he was living here or staying in a hotel. The story he told about coming up here to visit his grandmother was likely a lie at this point, so she doubted he was in Sausalito. She tried to remember if his family ever owned any property in the city or not; his father's electronics firm was headquartered in Los Angeles but had warehouse space all over California, so she assumed there was something in San Francisco. Would he really hide out in a warehouse? That seemed creepy and low even for him.

"Maybe he thinks no one would find him there." She shivered at the thought. "How many warehouses must San Francisco have? He could be hiding in any one of them!"

She took a deep breath. "He could also not be in town at all. You can order flowers from anywhere. You can call someone from anywhere. He did see us last night though. No, Amy, don't go there; San Francisco is a big city, and he could be clear on the south side of town. Let's just hope he is."

Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to relax again. Her mind wandered to another question - was it possible for Paul to find Steve's apartment? Her eyes popped open, and she started thinking if it _were_ possible.

"Did I tell Paul his last name?" she asked herself. She tried remembering three days back to the confrontation in her kitchen. "No, no, I just called him Steve...I think." She couldn't be sure.

Could he find out another way? If he can plan out all these murders, he probably knew someone who could find Steve. _He doesn't know anything about him though_, she thought. _He probably still thinks Steve's a lawyer from Sacramento. There has to be a hundred guys named Steve between here and there. He couldn't possibly go knocking on every door in the city. That would take away from his planning time...his plan to kill Steve…_

"Yeah, this bath isn't working," she said aloud, scrambling out of the tub. She dried off and got dressed as quickly as she could - she had to be ready for anything and sitting in a tub was about as unready as a person could be.

* * *

Steve looked at his watch. It was close to 4:30, and he felt like they'd barely even begun. They had actually made a lot of progress, but he felt like nothing was wrapped up solid and all he wanted to do was go home, take a nap, and forget about it for a while. Instead, he looked at the nothing they had on the two remaining victims - Darren Oberlander and Shawn Denne. He couldn't find a single person who knew anything about Shawn's unfortunate bout with food poisoning, leading Steve to a dead end. He and Mike decided that one might just have to stay an accident. If it was Paul's doing, he'd be doing time for the other murders anyway.

Darren's accident kept gnawing at Steve though. There had to be some way he could prove it was Paul without talking to family and friends. He'd checked earlier and no businesses in the area caught anything on surveillance, or if they had, footage from three and a half years ago was long gone. He poured over the few details in the folder, hoping something would jump out at him. Then he remembered what Amy had told him; Darren had stayed up here for Christmas while she went home. He got to wondering where Paul was for the holiday. If he could place Paul in the city at the time, it was one step in the right direction. He picked up the phone.

* * *

"This show is ridiculous," Amy said, even though she was laughing at the episode of Tattletales she was watching. Though she felt that way, she was still grateful for the humorous distraction. She felt worn out from being on edge all day and needed the lighthearted banter.

When the phone rang, she jumped nearly a foot off the couch. After getting her heart back in its proper place, she looked at the phone, wondering if she should even answer it. It could be Steve...but it could be someone else that didn't need to know she was there. It kept ringing, so she slowly picked up the receiver and listened without saying anything.

"It's safe to talk, Honey," Steve said.

Amy chuckled nervously. "Sorry. I just didn't know if I should answer it or not."

"You doing okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Really?" he asked, doubt in his voice.

"Yes, really. I just jump at every weird sound I hear, but it's been an okay day. Are you coming home soon?"

Steve laughed. "But you're doing just fine, right? I don't know when I'll be home, to be honest."

"That's okay; you have a lot of work to do. Learn anything helpful today? Like, you'll be arresting Paul soon?"

"Soon, I promise. We need to get an arrest warrant first, but we'll be getting to that shortly. I do have a question for you though."

"About the case?"

"Yeah. You said Darren was killed after Christmas right?"

"Mmm hmm. Christmas 1971."

"Do you remember if Paul was in LA with you?" Steve asked.

Amy was silent for a moment. "Um...well, I'm not sure. Let me think. That was a terrible Christmas as it was."

Steve could hear the sadness in her voice. "First without your dad?"

"Yeah. Mom tried to make it this huge affair by inviting everyone I think she'd ever known. Christmas Eve night - our house was packed. So many people...many of them there I'm sure because they felt sorry for Mom. I didn't even know three-quarters of them. I ended up spending the entire night with Karen and her little brother; they were the only family I knew. None of Dad's family was even there." She paused. "Have you ever been in a crowded room but felt completely alone?"

"I think we all have at one point," Steve told her. "Though when it's in your own house, I imagine it's worse."

"It kind of soured me on Christmas. I used to love it, too. Every Christmas since has been like that. I almost didn't go home last year."

"Well, then this year, I will make sure to throw you a Christmas so spectacular, you'll believe in Santa Claus again."

"Good luck with that; I never believed in Santa to start with." She wiped a tear out of her eye. "I'm getting off track. Um...you know, the Carpenters were there, but he wasn't. Yeah, it was just his parents."

"I assume if he'd been in town, he would have been there," Steve said.

"Oh, definitely. He'd have been following me around. It didn't surprise me that he wasn't there though."

"Why not?"

"He and his dad did not really get along."

"Really? Maybe his father could tell he was a creep."

"You could call him Daddy's little disappointment. His father owns a pretty big electronics company, and he always wanted Paul to eventually follow in his footsteps and be a big wig. Problem is, Paul isn't exactly the debonair go-getter who heads up successful companies. He's the geek who works in development by himself in a dark room. His father could never get over the fact that he had a son so unlike himself. He even blamed his wife for the fact that their only child was a...oh, what did he call him...a limp-wristed nancy boy?"

"His own father said that? Ouch."

"Yeah," Amy said. "Not that I'm defending him, but you hear enough of that in your life, you're liable to develop a complex. His dad also despised the fact that Paul was so fixated on me."

"This guy didn't like you? How could he not?" Steve scoffed.

"Well, you're biased, but it wasn't that. He just could tell it was a one-sided affair and wished his son would move on to someone else. The man felt sorry for me. One night, oh, maybe three or four months before my dad died, I was outside in my backyard for some reason that I can't remember anymore. I heard yelling on the other side of the fence, so naturally I listened in."

"Gee, I wonder where Jasmine got that from," Steve said sarcastically.

"Ha ha. At least I don't write things down. Anyway, Paul and his dad were arguing about me. His dad told him to stop being a creepy pervert; that girl doesn't love you! They went back and forth between Paul's delusions and his father's reality. Then it sounded like punches were being thrown. I wanted to peek over the fence, but I was kind of afraid to; it sounded pretty intense. Then a few weeks later, his father has a massive stroke. He's been disabled ever since. Always blamed his son though - still does."

"For the stroke?"

"Yeah. Everyone said it was just his impaired mental state doing the talking, but now? I don't know...do you think the fight would have caused a stroke?" Amy asked him.

"A hard enough blow to the head is liable to cause anything I would imagine. If his father had died, he would have been the first victim instead of your dad."

"Yeah. In a way, I guess he was anyway."

Steve started thinking again. "You don't happen to know what kind of car Paul drove back then, or if he even had one?"

"Yeah, he had his father's '69 Mercedes. It was a 280SL convertible I believe. Black. It was a nice car, but I never knew how he got ahold of it. His mother must have let him have it after his father's stroke."

Steve started looking through Darren's file to see if there was any mention of the other car in his accident.

"Oh man…" Amy muttered.

"What?"

"After I came back up here, my car's battery died. Paul came and gave me a ride somewhere, but it wasn't in the Mercedes. I asked him where it was, and he said he sold it. You don't suppose it…"

"Was actually wrecked and he had to hide it away somewhere? Sure seems that way, doesn't it?"

Amy sighed. "What a nightmare."

"It'll be over soon, I promise. What's Paul's father's name?"

"Calvin. Calvin Carpenter."

"Thanks. Looks like I'll be digging through DMV records. Not that they will tell me where that car is now."

"You are going to be coming home tonight, aren't you?"

Steve laughed. "Yeah. Mike is talking to the D.A. right now about the evidence we have in Carl's murder, so even if I don't have all the pieces for the others, we'll get to arrest him for something."

"Good. I mean, I want you to get everything right so that there will be no chance of a mistrial or of him getting off on some stupid technicality, but...well, I'm selfish, and I don't want to spend the night alone."

"If I have to choose between spending the night with you or spending it here looking at these guys all night...I'm quitting my job."

Amy laughed. "I'm not sure anyone's ever said anything like that to me before...well, no one sane anyway. Nice to know I'm better company than a bunch of gruff detectives. Some days I wonder."

"What are you thinking?" Steve asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Your voice got sadder all of a sudden, which tells me you're thinking something bad about yourself again. What is it?"

"You and your making me talk thing." She sighed. "I was just wondering if this is what I get for being nice - having to hide from the world, lose my mind. If I would have been meaner to Paul or just flat out ignored him, maybe none of this would be happening. My dad would be alive, I'd be free to go wherever I wanted without looking over my shoulder…"

"That's not in your nature though. You were kind to him because you're a kind person. That's just who you are. No one knows how people will turn out when they get older. Pretty sure his father didn't help matters any with the way he treated him. Besides, if it wasn't you, it would be someone else. Do you know why he left UCSF?"

"Because he was spending too much time planning murders that he flunked out?"

"He got kicked out," Steve told her. "Official cause in his record is sexual misconduct. He kept hitting on one of his students until she threatened to turn him in. He later beat her up and got expelled."

Amy was in shock. "Oh my God! He couldn't get me, so he tried some other poor girl?"

"You want to know the worst part?"

"There's a worse part?"

"The girl looked a lot like you."

"Oh, that made me feel better. So not only did people die because they knew me, but also because they looked like me. Maybe that Milani guy should have shot me when he had the chance."

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have told you that part, but this is not your fault. Anything a lunatic stalker does is NOT the victim's fault! You know that."

Amy sighed. "I know - you're right. It's just…"

"I know; you blame yourself because you're the common denominator. But you're the only one blaming you. Everyone else knows that you're a kind, caring person who couldn't hurt a fly. No one thinks you asked for this to happen."

She sniffled and dried her eyes once more. "I could hurt a fly; they're annoying."

Steve smiled. "I'll try to be home soon, okay? I love you."

"I love you too," Amy said. She hung up the phone and laid her head on the arm of the couch. She was tired of thinking, blaming, fearing.

Steve hung up and started reading through Darren's folder again. He pulled out the accident report and saw something interesting. He picked up the phone again and called the police impound. He didn't get the man he wanted to talk to, so he left a message and hung up the phone. He then picked it back up and called downstairs to talk to someone about a restraining order. According to the person he talked to, there was no restraining order against Amy. Steve had the lady double check, but she still found nothing.

"What a bitch," he muttered, referring to Janice Duncan apparently lying to Amy to keep her away. He then called Child Welfare. There, he got ahold of Jasmine's caseworker, to whom he explained that he was a police officer and that Jasmine was a witness in a case he was working on, so he needed to know where she was in case he needed to speak with her again.

"She's with a foster family who lives south of the 280. It's a far cry from what she was used to, and I guess they're nice enough people, but…"

"But what?" Steve asked, worried.

"I shouldn't say this, but you're in this same line of work - you see the types of people we often have to deal with. I just don't think this particular placement is ideal for someone so young and from that side of the tracks, so-to-speak. This woman has taken in fosters for years, but they've almost all been teenagers with drug and behavior problems. I had a foster girl tell me once that she almost got her throat slit in her sleep by one of the other kids because that kid thought she was hiding his weed. The woman claims she's tough on the kids, but…"

"I can't blame you for being worried," Steve said, suddenly fearing for Jasmine's safety.

"I should be objective, but this case is hard. That poor girl really doesn't belong in the system, and she certainly doesn't belong there, but they were the only home we could find on such short notice. We couldn't find any family willing to take her, which I find fishy quite frankly. But I can't question the boss, you know?"

Steve thought for a second. "This might sound crazy, and I'm probably overstepping my authority somehow, but my girlfriend was Jasmine's nanny. She's also a licensed social worker, so would it be at all possible for her to come stay with us instead? If Jasmine's really in that much danger…"

"That would be ideal!" the lady interrupted. "We try to place children with people they already have a relationship with if no family is available. And, if your girlfriend is a social worker, she might be on the foster registry anyway; the ones who often work with youth will sometimes sign up since they're already trained...what's her name?" the caseworker asked.

"Amy Johnson."

"Not LA Amy?" she asked excitedly.

"Um, could be? She is from LA."

"Went to Berkeley...dad's a lawyer, mom's an actress…"

"We must be talking about the same person," Steve told her.

"Oh, what a small world! She's on the list; I'm almost sure of it. She worked here for a few months while she was in school. Such a sweet girl. I wish she were still here, actually, but a certain person around here didn't like her. Oh, I would feel much better if Jasmine were with her. I really shouldn't be saying things like that."

"Your secret is safe with me," Steve assured her.

"There she is! I wonder if she even got a call this morning. See, there's that fishy feeling again. No matter. If she'd be willing, I can surely have Jasmine re-placed. I'll go pick her up shortly."

"Actually, why don't I just meet you there?" Steve suggested.

They agreed on a time and place, and Steve hung up the phone. He hoped he didn't get this lady in trouble, but he also didn't really care, so long as Jasmine was safe. He'd grown rather fond of the girl even though he'd only seen her twice. He was also fond of her nanny and knew this would make Amy very happy.

His phone rang again. He let out a sigh; he felt like he'd been on that thing all afternoon. He answered it and found he was talking with an officer in charge of the impound lot, Jackson.

"I'm looking at this file of a hit and run from December of '71. According to this, the victim's car was in impound for a while. You wouldn't happen to remember a white '63 T-bird, hit on the driver's side?" Steve asked Jackson.

"Remember it? Sure I do, because it's still here."

Steve heard him shuffling some papers.

"License number California JLI 462, right?" Jackson said.

Steve looked at the file. "That's the one. Why is it still down there?"

"Paper says it's still part of an open investigation and not to move it until homicide is done with it. If you're homicide, Keller, why don't you know this?" he teased.

"We don't talk to each other much up here. I'll be down to look at it in a sec," Steve said and hung up the phone. He looked at his watch again. Five o'clock. "I may _not_ get home at this rate," he muttered as he stood up. He told Tanner to tell Mike where he was if Mike came looking for him, and then he walked out of homicide and down to impound.

* * *

Jackson showed Steve where the Thunderbird was as the two started walking to the back corner of the lot. Judging by the dust and dirt on the cars in that part of the lot, Steve knew these vehicles had been in impound for a while. While he walked, he looked at what was there; the vehicles ranged from fancy imports to ancient, broken-down heaps. Then he saw something that struck his eye.

"Is this a '69?" he asked Jackson, stopping in front of a black Mercedes convertible with major front end damage.

Jackson looked at it. "I think so. That car's been here about as long as your T-bird. Don't quote me, but I think that car was an abandon. I'll go find the file."

"Thanks," Steve said, walking two cars down to the white Thunderbird. The car's driver's side was pushed in almost to the middle of the car. Steve couldn't imagine how fast Paul had to have been going to wreck this car so badly. He looked back and forth from the Mercedes to the Thunderbird, trying to determine if these two cars were in the same wreck. He couldn't see how they weren't. He also wondered how Paul supposedly walked away from it.

He walked back to the Mercedes and pried open the passenger's door. The front end of the car had been shoved far enough back to make opening the door difficult. Once he got the door open, he opened the glove box, looking for a registration. Finding nothing, he started looking all around, but there was nothing in the car indicating who owned it.

He got out and saw Jackson coming back with papers in his hand.

"Car was abandoned on 20th. Found on December 30 after someone complained about it. Been here ever since," Jackson explained.

"Who owns it?" Steve asked.

Jackson looked at the paper. "No idea."

Steve looked at him questioningly. "No idea?"

"No plates, no registration..."

"No one ran the VIN?"

Jackson just shrugged.

Steve walked to the driver's side. The hood was pushed up over the windshield, making the VIN plate hard to see. He asked Jackson for a flashlight, which the man pulled off his belt and handed to Steve. He turned on the light and saw that half the VIN was scratched off.

"I can't believe this," he muttered. "That idiot thought of everything."

He took his notebook and pen out of his pocket and wrote down what numbers were readable. Jackson took his flashlight back and walked away; Steve went back to the Thunderbird.

A few minutes later, Mike found his partner knelt down, looking at the side of the Thunderbird. "What exactly are you doing?" he asked.

"This is the car Darren Oberlander was driving when he was hit and killed." He pointed to the Mercedes. "I think that was the murder weapon. I'm just trying to find paint transfer or something."

"You want a transfer to accident investigation?" Mike asked.

"Always good to have options in case this stint in homicide doesn't work out," Steve told him.

Mike walked over to the Mercedes and looked at the front. "Carpenter walked away from this car?"

"That's what I thought."

The two were silent for a moment, both busy inspecting the vehicles. They began sharing spots they found that looked the color of the opposite car.

"Why don't we turn this over to the guys in the garage?" Mike suggested.

"Yeah. I need to run the VIN on the Mercedes anyway. Amy told me Paul drove a black '69 280SL, but there's nothing on that car to indicate an owner but a partial VIN."

Mike stuck out his hand. "Give me the number. I'll run it and get these two cars to the garage. You have someone to get home to."

Steve smiled and handed Mike his notes. "Normally I would argue, but I appreciate it. What about the warrant?"

"Hopefully tomorrow morning. Go home, rest up. Tomorrow might be a long day."


	30. Chapter 30

_**Well, I know Mike would be excited about the outcome of the World Series, no? :D**_

After getting off the phone with Steve, Amy found herself with nothing to do, so she walked into the kitchen and looked in the cabinet under the sink. Whenever she was bored and restless at home, she'd start cleaning anything she could find. She figured as long as Steve was letting her hide out, she might as well do something for him to earn her keep.

Starting in the kitchen, she cleaned the sink, counter, and even got on her hands and knees to scrub the floor. That chore she didn't mind as it was much easier on her feet than standing at the counter. She was happy to see that despite being a bachelor, Steve seemed to be a clean person. No other single man she'd ever known was clean; it was the girlfriends and wives who made them straighten up. Since she was scrubbing the floor, a rather non-brain-taxing activity, her mind wandered back to the same place it wandered when she found the bubble bath. Maybe the place was clean because there really was a girl...or had been very recently.

"I need an on/off switch for my brain," she said aloud while throwing the scrub brush at the floor, mad at herself for again thinking ridiculous thoughts. "I hope it's just the stress, and I'm not such an idiot afterward." She went back to scrubbing but soon found herself scrubbing so hard, her arms hurt. She wondered what exactly she was trying to rub out - her jealous thoughts or the reason she was at Steve's in the first place - Paul.

Sighing, she stood up and looked at the clock. The kitchen had wasted close to an hour, and Steve wasn't home yet, so she decided to clean the bathroom. Scrubbing the tub would get her off her feet and get rid of some of her frustration. Still wearing rubber gloves, she started to head into the bathroom when someone knocked at the front door. She froze, unsure of what to do. Then she realized if it were Paul, he probably wouldn't knock on the door before killing her...would he?

"Amy? Are you in there?" a voice shouted from the other side of the door.

She recognized the voice as Karen's, so without hesitation, she went to the door and unlocked it. She soon found herself staring at more than just Karen though.

"Mom! Aunt Kaye. Wha...what are you guys doing up here?" she asked, stunned.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're up here cleaning houses for a living," Margaret Johnson said to her daughter.

Amy looked at her hands and quickly took off the gloves. "No, not exactly. Uh...come in I guess."

The three walked into Steve's apartment. Amy threw the gloves in the kitchen, and upon returning, Kaye gave her niece a hug and told her she looked good. Margaret was less enthusiastic.

"If you're not the maid, Dear, then what are you doing here?" she asked instead.

"Mom, Aunt Margaret, why don't you have a seat?" Karen suggested. She then pulled Amy into the bedroom and shut the door.

"What the hell is my mother doing here?" Amy loudly whispered. "Actually, what are you doing here?"

"I got home a few hours ago and found someone putting a new front door on our apartment. I asked him why, and he told me to ask the manager. So I did, and he told me the cops told him to put it on because someone tried to break in and ended up kicking a hole in the door?!"

"It was Paul," Amy said. "After you called last night, he called and more or less threatened me, so I ran out of there and came here. I walked here without shoes on at midnight to get away from that place." She sat down on the bed and showed Karen the bottom of her feet.

"Ouch. So now he's trying to kidnap you?"

"I don't know. I'm more or less hiding out here now just in case. No one followed you here, did they?" she asked Karen, suddenly very frightened.

"No, I don't think so."

"How'd you know where Steve lived?"

"I called him. I figured if you weren't at home, you'd be here. I was hoping it was under much better circumstances though."

"Yeah. So what are _they_ doing here? And what is my mother's problem? Oh God, she's probably going to try and drag me back to LA with her...again."

"Apparently Dad got Mom some spa weekend getaway up here, and she decided her sister could use a vacation. So they show up at our door an hour ago."

"It's Tuesday!" Amy shouted as softly as she could.

"Not a literal weekend getaway. I don't know; Mom said Aunt Margaret didn't want to come until last night. I guess she changed her mind for some reason?"

Amy started at the wall for a moment. "Why now?"

Karen shrugged. "She wasn't too pleased when you weren't home though."

Amy sighed exasperatedly. "Great. So now she'll want to know whose place this is, and I'll get the third degree."

She stood up, opened the door, and walked into the living room. "So, what brings you guys up here?" she asked, smiling the fakest smile she could muster.

'Your uncle decided that we needed to come up here and see our children, so he got us a hotel room and a day at a spa so we could all relax and have some fun," Kaye said.

"How nice!" Amy said facetiously, sitting down on the chair by the couch.

"And then we get to your place and find you're not even there," Margaret chimed in. "Did you move and not tell me?"

"Obviously not, since you called me there yesterday morning, and I answered," Amy told her mother.

"So why are you here if you don't work here? What happened to your nanny job? Whose place is this?" she asked, looking around.

"No, my nanny job sort of ended when his wife accused me of murder. Seems she hates me, wants to ruin my entire life, and will never let me see her daughter again."

"So you're not working? Is that why you're here? You have a new roommate." She glanced quickly at Karen, giving her a _What did you do?_ look. "You're not bumming off someone, are you?" Her mother's voice was full of disappointment.

Amy considered at least half a dozen lies before deciding it would just be easier to tell the truth - a modified version of it anyway. She figured it would lead to less arguments down the road.

"Remember that policeman you talked to yesterday morning?" she asked her mother.

"Which one? I actually talked to a few yesterday," Margaret answered in a disdainful tone.

Amy looked at her mother, wondering where this was leading. "The one from here, on the phone. Steve Keller."

"Oh, the San Francisco cop. Yes. Remind me to thank him for having his Los Angeles brothers in blue come visit me yesterday. I enjoyed having them open up old wounds."

Amy stared at her mother. "What are you talking about?"

"So is this Mr. Keller's place then? Why are _you_ here? Is there something you're not telling me about this 'help' you're giving him?"

Amy was taken aback. "You know, Mom, I really don't owe you any explanations. I mean, I'm 25, so I can be friends with whomever I choose and do whatever I want with them. Yes, this is Steve's place. Now answer my question."

"Mildred calls me yesterday and tells me she needs the keys to your father's office. I ask her why. She tells me a cop from San Francisco called and wants her to go in there to look for evidence. Evidence of what I ask. That your father was killed she says. Killed. How ridiculous is that?"

"It's not," Amy said quietly.

Her mother continued as if she didn't hear Amy. "She wouldn't let up until I brought her the damn keys though, so I drove all the way downtown because some cop from San Francisco with nothing better to do thinks my husband was murdered. Is that cop your 'friend' Steve?"

"Yeah, it is," Amy said with an attitude. "And trust me, it's not because he has nothing better to do."

"So I decide I need to come see you, find out what's going on. As I'm packing this morning, two detectives from the LAPD come knocking on my door and start asking me all about your father's death again. You really think I want to relive that? I tried to tell them that all the questioning was unnecessary; Glen's death was not a murder, but they kept saying that they were checking to see if it was related to some homicides up here."

Amy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you saying that you'd rather keep on thinking that Dad died on his own? Someone killed him, Mom! That means that he'd still be alive if not for that! Someone should pay for what they did! Your husband would still be here, with you, if not for...this person! Wouldn't you rather know exactly what happened?"

"Amy, Dear, it took me a very long time to accept the fact that I'm a widow. Then it took me another long amount of time to accept the fact that I was also no longer a mother."

Amy closed her eyes and bit her tongue. She knew her mother still resented her move to San Francisco, but she'd never vocalized it so bluntly.

"But I did. I finally got over it."

Kaye looked at her sister. "Margaret…" she started to say in protest, but was quickly cut off.

"Until today, when your so-called friend decides to ruin my life. Did he talk you into going along with this?"

Amy stood up, her face turning a bright shade of red, and stood in front of her mother. "Ruin your life? Steve ruined your life?! Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?! Some piece of shit kills your husband in cold blood, and you get mad at the detective who's trying to find the truth! That is so backwards I can't even process it! And yes, Steve did talk me into the theory of Dad being killed, because he realized that maybe all these people around me who were dying weren't dying from bad luck. Turns out he was right! There is evidence in almost all of them, and that evidence points to murder!"

Margaret stood up and faced her daughter. She put her hands on Amy's shoulders like she was about to shake some sense into her. "Honey, listen to yourself. Accidents are not murder. I don't know why this man has convinced you of that; maybe to a murder detective, everything is murder." She paused and sighed. "I honestly thought you'd healed from all this, but I guess I was wrong. I shouldn't have let you come up here. Being away from home has messed up your mind."

Amy knocked her mother's hands off her shoulders fiercely. She then turned and looked at her aunt and cousin. They looked as confused as her. She walked away from her mother, then turned back and looked at her.

"Think whatever you want, Mother, but Daddy was murdered. End of story." She folded her arms and just stood looking at Margaret.

Margaret looked at the floor and shook her head. "Has your 'friend' turned up any suspects?"

Amy didn't like the way Margaret kept using the word 'friend' when referring to Steve. "Yes, my 'friend' has. One. The same one for every single person who has died on me in the last two and a half years."

Kaye gasped. "Like a serial killer?"

Amy nodded. "Precisely. Still think this person doesn't exist, Mom?"

Margaret sat back down on the couch. "You never told me what you were doing here. If he's not here, then why are you?"

"If you really must know, I'm hiding from someone."

"Hiding? Why on earth would you need to be hiding? Does this have anything to do with the break in at your apartment?" Margaret suddenly looked worried.

Amy was still angry. "Yeah, it does. The person who tried to break into my apartment last night is stalking me. He called me, threatened me, threatened Steve...so now I'm here hiding, hoping he doesn't figure out where I am. If he does, I'm afraid he'll kill one of us."

"You should have seen what he did to the door with just his foot," Karen said. "I'm hoping the new door is more solid."

Margaret stood back up and walked over to her daughter. She gave her a hug which Amy did not reciprocate.

"You poor thing! Honey, if you're so afraid, why don't you seek Paul's help? He's up here, and I know he'd be more than willing to help you. He's always had your back."

Karen rushed over to Amy and put her arm around her cousin. It prevented Amy from lunging at her mother, which she tried.

"Why don't you guys just drop this," Karen suggested.

Amy ignored her. "He's the one I'm hiding from!" she yelled. "He's the one stalking me! He sent me an entire store's worth of flowers, begging me to love him! He followed me around town on my date last night! He called me in the middle of the night, trying to scare me into loving him! He's insane!"

Margaret looked at her daughter with pity. "You can't be talking about Paul Carpenter. The cute little boy from next door?" She laughed. "He couldn't hurt a fly!"

"Tell Calvin that while he sits in his wheelchair, unable to walk or talk because his own son hit him in the head hard enough to cause a stroke. See if he thinks that 'cute little boy' could hurt a fly."

"Calvin is just confused," Margaret said.

"Confused my ass. He knows exactly who his son is, even if you and his wife are blind to it."

"Well, pardon me for not trusting the word of a man who lied for years to his wife about affairs and such and now expects her to take care of him even though he didn't take care of her. He was always a lousy father anyway; God finally just decided that it was time for some karma."

Amy couldn't even vocalize how she felt toward what her mother had just said.

"Paul is not someone to be scared of! You're acting like he's Jack the Ripper," Margaret told her.

"He is! He's got six murders tied to him already, and who knows if those are all of them!"

Margaret scoffed. "Your 'friend' must be a pretty bad detective then."

"Stop referring to him as my 'friend'!" she growled at her mother. "He's a damn good cop; he's much better at it than Paul is at anything but being a freak."

Margaret shook her head. "Honey, I love you, but you never did have sense enough to know who was good for you. You just never could read people without them slapping you in the face with their feelings. Paul has loved you for years, but you would never give him a chance! I have never seen a man so devoted to keeping a girl safe and happy. Well, besides your father."

"Oh, I am going to be sick," Karen said, finally letting go of Amy's waist. If she wanted to attack her mother, Karen had no problem with it anymore.

"Don't you EVER compare Paul to Daddy. Were you not aware how much your husband hated and distrusted Paul? There was a reason for that, and it got him killed," Amy said angrily, but calmly.

"Your father was not around Paul enough to really know him. I'm starting to wonder if you were. No, you were too busy with that other young man who assaulted you at the prom. Really, Honey? You thought he was a better boyfriend than Paul?"

Amy's face was on fire and she was clenching her jaw so tight her face also hurt. She had no idea how her mother even knew about that or why she was now using it against her.

"And what about this new...Steve. What about him? What is going on with you two?"

"You seem to have all the answers; you tell me," Amy said through clenched teeth.

Margaret frowned. "Paul loves you though."

"And I love Steve," Amy said, staring right into her mother's eyes. "He's saved me more than once, even from myself. He worries about me, he makes me laugh." Tears welled up in her eyes, partly from frustration, partly from happiness. "He loves me."

"Paul loves you!" he mother said forcefully. "He's loved you for years, not...how long have you and Steve even known each other?"

Karen put her hand on her face.

"That doesn't matter," Amy said quietly.

"Yes it does! How long?"

Amy tried her hardest to just not say anything, but her mother's angry stare got the better of her. "A week! One whole week! That's all!" she screamed.

"You can't seriously believe you're in love with someone you've known a week! Sweetheart, you're too smart for that. What has he done, brainwashed you into falling for him so that he can..."

Amy didn't let her mother finish; she didn't need to. She'd heard this same excuse before, only this time her reaction was different - she slapped her mother right across the face. Margaret stood in stunned silence.

"You don't know anything about Steve Keller, and neither does Paul. Don't you pretend like you even know me anymore. Now get out of my apartment before I call the cops and have you thrown out," Amy snarled.

Kaye jumped off the couch. "I think it would be a good idea if the three of us went back to the hotel and leave Amy here. It's getting late and I'm sure Mr. Keller will be home shortly anyway." She put her hands on her sister's shoulders and tried leading her away from the staredown she was engaged in with her daughter. Kaye finally managed to pull her sister away and toward the door. She turned back to her niece.

"Will you be free tomorrow to join us at the spa? It sounds like maybe you could use a little relaxation?" She gave Amy a look that said she was truly sorry for everything that had just happened.

"I'll have to talk to my bodyguard," she said snidely, more at her mother than aunt.

"We'll call then," she said, pushing her sister out the door.

Margaret did manage to get one more stab in before leaving. "Your father would be so disappointed in you for not giving Paul a chance."

Karen held Amy back and told her mother she'd be out in a second.

As soon as the two older ladies were out of sight, Amy collapsed into a ball on the floor and cried.

"What in the hell was that?" Karen yelled, hugging Amy.

After Amy had cried for a moment, she picked her head up and looked at Karen. "You better get out there before one of them comes back in looking for you."

"Yeah, but you're not…"

Amy cut off Karen's protest. "I'll be fine," she said. Her crying had slowed and she was back to sounding angry.

"Fine? How can you after that?!"

"Aunt Kaye is right; Steve will be here soon. I will be fine."

Karen stood up. "Call me later then."

"You're not going back there, are you?"

"Pretty sure he knows you're not there anyway. I'm not worried."

Amy just sighed. Karen wasn't going to listen to her. As she walked toward the door, Amy said, "Good luck."

"With your mother? What I need is the self-control to not deck her." She shook her head and walked out the door.

Amy stayed in her puddle and started crying again.


	31. Chapter 31

Steve pulled in front of a small, run down house on Silver Avenue. The neighborhood was decent enough, but like the caseworker had said, a far cry from Sea Cliff. The paint was peeling off the salmon-colored exterior, the single-car garage door was missing a panel on the bottom, and the blinds in the large window above the garage were broken in several places. It was clear to Steve that the people who lived here didn't care much about their property.

Minutes later, a white Chevrolet Corvair came down the street and pulled in front of the house. Assuming it was the caseworker, Steve got out of the LTD and approached her.

"Lois McFadden?" he asked the lady in the Corvair.

"Yes. You must be Steve," she said, grabbing a large purse and then extending her hand for him to shake.

"So everything worked out alright?" Steve asked, slightly worried this foster mother had ideas other than handing Jasmine over.

"Yeah. Thelma seemed just fine with it, especially when I told her I had a teenager who just came in the system that I would send as a...replacement of sorts. It sounds like I'm talking about defective toasters, not children," Lois said, shaking her head.

"Thelma?" Steve asked, following Lois up the stairs to the front door.

"Thelma Dixon, the foster mother. She has two kids of her own, plus a foster. She can have as many as two fosters at a time, so us moving Jasmine was fine with her. She'd rather have the older kids anyway since hers are older."

Lois pushed the doorbell that was attached to the gate in front of the door. Soon a teenage boy wearing a baseball cap opened the door.

"Oh, you again," he muttered, coming out and unlatching the gate. "You here to move me again, Miss McFadden?"

"No, not you James. Is everything okay?" she asked the boy as she and Steve walked into the house.

"Why can't you ever put me up in some mansion with a pool and a butler who talks funny? Why you always gotta put me in a dump like this?"

Steve walked through the front door and looked at the "dump" James was complaining about. For a surly teenager, the kid was pretty accurate about the status of the dwelling. There was stuff strewn about the floor - everything from clothes and shoes to books and soda bottles. The place had a stale stench, like it had been shut up and not cleaned in months. It also smelled faintly like a combination of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Steve thought maybe that smell had been stronger hours earlier, but the visit from Child Welfare prompted someone to hide it. The walls looked dirty and dingy and the curtains were in no better shape than the blinds.

"This is better than the group home, isn't it?" Lois asked James.

He shrugged and muttered, "I guess. She's kind of a bitch though, ya know?"

"Lose the attitude and she might not be a bitch...ya know," Lois said, giving him attitude back. "Where is she?"

James pointed toward the kitchen, which was in the back of the house. He wandered off to get her. Another teenage boy came into the room, this one wearing bellbottoms, a checkered button down shirt, and a feathered hair style. He looked at Steve and started sniffing the air.

"Smells like a barbeque in here. Oh, sorry, Officer. Didn't see you there." He then laughed hysterically at his own joke.

Steve smiled at him. It would take a lot more than a punk teenager to rattle him.

"You here to serve out some of that old-fashioned police brutality you guys love? One of your brothers rousted a friend of mine the other day for standing in the wrong spot. Roughed him up real good. Man was only carrying a little bit of weed."

"Well, gosh, Man, I guess it's too bad that even a little bit of weed is illegal in California. If I search you, am I gonna find anything on you?" Steve said, acting just as tough as the kid.

"His dumb ass better not have anything on it," Thelma said, storming into the kitchen. She looked at her son. "Get your stupid ass into that kitchen and help your new brother."

The son walked off toward where James had gone.

"Sorry about him. I wish I could trade him for another one you got," Thelma said to Lois.

Lois just kind of laughed it off. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Thelma Dixon, this is Steve Keller. He's here to take Jasmine," Lois said.

Thelma looked him up and down. "You look like you'd be from her neighborhood. Well, good luck to ya; she hasn't said a word since she got here. Hasn't eaten anything either. She's in the last room down the hall," she said, pointing.

Steve turned around and walked toward the bedroom. Lois stayed in the living room and began a conversation with Thelma. At the end of the hallway, a teenage girl stood outside a closed bedroom door.

She looked up at the stranger coming toward her. "You here to take her?" she asked.

"Yeah. She in there?" he asked, motioning his head toward the door.

The girl nodded. "I tried to get her to eat something, but she won't. She just sits in the corner and cries. I gave her one of my old stuffed animals thinking it would make her feel better."

Steve could tell the girl, unlike the other two in the house, actually cared. "Thanks," he told her.

He opened the bedroom door and found a room that was no cleaner than the living room, though the draperies were in better shape and it smelled more like vanilla. What he didn't see was Jasmine. He walked around the bed, toward the window, and found her huddled in the corner, her knees to her chest, squeezing a teddy bear for dear life. She didn't look up at all.

Steve sat down on the floor in front of her. "Hey, Princess," he said quietly.

At the sound of his voice, she finally turned her head to see who was in the room with her. Once her eyes landed on him, she jumped up and lunged toward him. "Steve!" she said excitedly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Are you here to take me away?" Then she started crying.

He rubbed her back. "Hey, don't cry. Everything is going to be okay now." He was amazed at how excited she was to see him, considering she'd only talked with him twice.

She kept crying and he kept rubbing her back and telling her everything would be alright. After a while, he pulled her away so he could look at her face. It was red, like she'd been crying all day.

"Amy cries on me like this all the time; don't you start doing it too," he teased as he brushed away hair from her face.

"I don't like it here," she said sadly. "They all scare me. Except Jana - she's nice."

He assumed Jana was the girl in the hall. "Did she give you that?" he asked, indicating the teddy bear.

Jasmine nodded.

"How would you like to come stay with Amy and me for a while?"

Jasmine's eyes perked up. "I can see Amy?"

"Absolutely. I know she'd love to see you."

"What about Mama? She'll get mad."

"Your mom really can't say anything about it anymore. You can see Amy as much as you want now."

Jasmine smiled. "Let's go," was all she said. She grabbed her suitcase, threw the teddy bear on the bed, and hugged Steve's leg once he stood up.

He laughed, picked her up, and carried her out of the bedroom.

On her way past Jana, Jasmine waved, but then promptly buried her head in Steve's shoulder so she didn't have to look at anyone else.

"Ready to go?" Lois asked, seeing Steve and Jasmine come into the living room.

Steve nodded, thanked Thelma for watching Jasmine for a few hours, and the three left the house and walked down the stairs to the street.

"You look a lot happier now," Lois told Jasmine as Steve put her in the backseat of the LTD.

"I get to see Amy!" she said, buckling her seatbelt.

Steve told her to sit patiently and closed the car door. He walked Lois around the car.

"She and Amy must be close," Lois commented.

"Yeah, I don't think I even know how close. Say, how much does she know about what happened? Does she know her mother's in jail?"

"I don't know about that, but I know she saw the police take her off in handcuffs. Whether she knows what happens after that, I can't say. I can say that she was more upset having to leave her house than losing her mother, which is abnormal."

"You ever meet her mother?" Steve asked.

Lois shook her head.

"If you had, you wouldn't be surprised." He paused. "What about relatives? You said you couldn't find any willing to take her?"

Lois again shook her head. "I'm no mind reader, but I'm guessing that all the people on her mother's side want nothing to do with Janice or her daughter. A couple acted like taking the girl would ruin their reputations."

It was Steve's turn to shake his head, only his was in disbelief.

"As far as anyone on her father's side, the only people I found were a sister in New York and an aunt in Phoenix. I didn't get ahold of either one. They still might be a possibility, but who knows." Lois frowned. "I've been doing this for twenty years and have never seen a child from a background like hers have absolutely no one who cared. Makes me sick. I'm so glad you called, really."

"Yeah, so am I. If there's ever anything I should know, give me a call." He pulled one of his cards out of his wallet and handed it to her.

"Will do. Tell Amy hello for me. I don't know if she'd remember me or not, but I remember her."

"I will."

The two went their separate ways with Steve heading back to his car. He got in and looked back at Jasmine. "I hear you refused to eat anything. I bet you're hungry."

"Yeah," she said kind of quietly while looking out the side window.

"Tell you what. Let's go home and see Amy, then we'll get something for dinner."

Jasmine turned to him and smiled.

* * *

As he drove the twenty-minute trek toward his apartment, he occasionally glanced in the rearview mirror at Jasmine. She was always looking out the window, quiet as a mouse. She wasn't crying anymore, but he could tell she wasn't back to the bubbly little girl he'd seen before.

"Sounds like you had a pretty rough morning," he said after a few minutes in the car.

"I didn't have to go to school. I liked that," she said, still looking out the window.

"I always liked it when I didn't have to go to school too," he said. He really wanted to know how much she knew about what had happened, but he didn't want to push. He also wondered if it would be better coming from Amy, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Steve?" Jasmine said a few moments later.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Where did they take her?"

Steve looked in the rearview mirror again, this time seeing Jasmine looking at him.

"Where did they take who?" he asked, looking straight ahead and playing dumb.

"Where did your police friends take my mom? They took her away this morning in those little bracelets that tie your hands together. Do you have those?"

Steve wanted to smile about the handcuffs but not about the situation. He felt better just keeping his eyes on the freeway.

"Yeah, I have those 'bracelets'."

"Do you use them a lot?"

"When I have to take a bad guy to jail, yeah." He wasn't sure he should have said that.

"So that's where she went," Jasmine said before not saying anything for a couple miles. "Was it because she was mean to me? Mean people are bad, and bad people go to jail."

"What do you mean by mean to you? What did your mom do that was mean?"

"Lots of things. When the policeman was taking her outside today, I was standing at the top of the stairs watching. She saw me and screamed at me and told me this was all my fault."

Steve shook his head in disgust. "What was your fault?"

"I don't know. She was mad that I gave you my spy notebook and talked to you. I thought it was okay to talk to police; they're there to help you if you get in trouble. My teacher said that."

"Your teacher is right."

"So then why would Mama be mad I talked to you?"

There was no way to explain a person like Janice to a six year old. Someone that young couldn't understand that her mother and father were in a war with each other and that what she told Steve and Amy was partially responsible for her mother going to jail.

"Sometimes when people do things that are wrong, they get mad when they get caught. Your mom...she did some things that were wrong. Her punishment is that she has to go to jail for a while."

"This dumb girl in my class, Michelle - she was being mean to my friend Robin. She pulled her hair at recess and stuff, so I told on her. Michelle got mad at me when she had to sit in the office instead of playing so she pulled my hair then! Is it like that?"

"Yeah, it's exactly like that." Steve laughed to himself at the thought that Janice really was acting worse than a kindergartener. He wished the worst thing Janice had done to Amy was pull her hair.

"I helped you and Amy you said," Jasmine added moments later.

"You did! You helped us a lot."

Jasmine sat quiet for a while again, looking back out the window. Steve wondered what she was thinking. He pulled the car off the 101 and onto 7th Street. At a stoplight, Jasmine spoke again.

"She's not coming back...is she?"

Steve couldn't tell from her tone of voice whether she was scared she wouldn't get out of jail...or she would.

"I don't want her to," she added a moment later.

The light was still red, so Steve turned and looked at her. "You don't?"

Jasmine looked at Steve and shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He turned back around just as the light turned green. "Sure. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"I heard something once that I didn't write down. I didn't even tell Amy, and I told her lots of stuff."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I didn't want her to get in trouble. One other time I told her a secret, about Mama being mean to me, and Mama yelled at her and got her in trouble with some lady that came to the house." She sniffed.

Steve looked in the rearview mirror and saw tears coming down her cheeks. Before turning onto Folsom Street, he pulled the car over and put it in park. He turned around and looked at Jasmine.

"Whatever you tell me...it won't get Amy in trouble again, I promise. There is nothing your mom can do to her now."

Jasmine sat for a time, looking out the window. Then, without turning around, she spoke. "They fought a lot."

"Your mom and dad?" Steve asked.

She nodded. "They liked to fight when they thought I was asleep. Amy always left after she put me to bed, so she never heard them."

"But you did," Steve said sadly.

"Yeah. One night, it was really loud! So I went downstairs so I could hear better. Mama and Daddy were in his office yelling at each other." She paused for a second, then unbuckled her seatbelt, stood up, and hung on the back seat to hold herself up. "Steve, what is a whore?" she asked with a completely straight face.

Steve's eyes widened, and he was at a loss for words. After a second or two, he did manage to spit out, "Where did you hear that?"

"Mama told Daddy she was tired of raising some whore's daughter."

Steve ran his hand through his hair. He had no idea what Janice was talking about or how to answer Jasmine's question. He really wished Amy were there; she'd probably come up with an answer.

"What else did she say?" he asked instead.

"She said she wasn't my mother and was sick of pretending she was. Then she was mad that I like Amy better than her. She called Amy a whore too."

"Well that's not true," was all he could think to say.

"She said she'd never let Amy raise her fake daughter though. Then she told Daddy that everything would be fine if he could just keep it in his pants. Then he told her he could if she was better in the sack. So, what's in his pants, and why would anyone be in a sack? People don't fit in sacks! I know - I tried once."

Steve felt like banging his head repeatedly on the headrest. If knowing how to answer such questions was a requirement of parenthood, he was clearly not ready. Although, he thought, his children would never hear such language from him in the first place.

He let out a breath. "You know, let's just forget about what they said. Your mom and dad...they didn't really like each other, so they said stupid things to make each other mad. Adults do it a lot." _Please let that be a good enough explanation_, he thought.

"Do you and Amy?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. We like each other."

She smiled.

"Your mom said she wasn't your mom?" Steve asked for clarification.

"Yeah. If she's not my mom, then does that mean she won't come back? I don't want her to hit me anymore."

"She hit you?!" he asked, almost too loudly.

Jasmine nodded. "Yeah. That was the secret that got Amy in trouble. I didn't want to lie to the lady who came, but Mama made me." She stopped talking and her eyes started welling up with tears.

Steve felt bad for her. He hadn't realized just how awful this little girl's home situation had been. "You don't have to worry about that anymore. Your mom...or whatever...is out of your life, and she won't be coming back." It was a bold statement for him to be making, but he had a feeling that if Janice did try to get her daughter back, Amy would do whatever it took to stop her.

"You promise?" Jasmine asked, a tear running down her cheek.

"I promise," he said, hoping he'd never have to break it.

She plopped back down on the seat and put the belt back on. "I want you and Amy to be my new mommy and daddy," she said, as if her simply saying it would make it true. Then as quickly, she changed the subject. "Can we have anything for dinner?"

Steve was actually grateful for the subject change. He had no idea what to say about her request. He turned around and put the car in drive. "Sure. Anything you want," he said, pulling back into traffic.

* * *

Standing at the top of the stairs, Steve looked at Jasmine and said, "Now when we go in, I want you to be very quiet. Amy doesn't know you're coming, and I want it to be a surprise, okay?"

She nodded and put her right index finger up to her lips. Taking his keys out of his right pants pocket, he unlocked the door and opened it slowly, looking around inside the apartment. He saw no one. He walked in and Jasmine quietly followed.

"Amy?" he called out, but heard no response. He whispered to Jasmine to have a seat on the couch. He then turned on the TV and handed her the remote. She sat quietly on the couch and started pressing buttons, more interested in that than actually watching a show.

Steve wandered around, noticing the bedroom door was closed. He hoped that Amy was just taking a nap. Opening the door, he saw her lying in the middle of the bed with a cloth over her eyes. He closed the door, walked over to the bed, and sat down next to her.

"Hey," he said softly, rubbing her arm.

"I'm awake," she mumbled.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Not physically, no. What time is it?"

"A little after six. What happened?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing."

He took the cloth off her eyes and saw that even though they were closed, the skin around them was red and puffy.

"Nothing, huh? Your eyes tell a different tale."

She said nothing, but Steve could tell she was about to start crying again.

"You might as well tell me what happened, because you know I'll bug you about it until you do," he told her.

Amy threw her eyes open and gave Steve an angry look. "You know who came to town today, apparently solely to ruin my life?"

"Who would do that, besides Paul of course…"

"My mother," she said curtly.

"Your mother? Ruin your life?" Steve lay down on his back beside Amy and took her hand in his. "Okay, spill it. What did she do? Or why is she even here?"

Amy took a deep breath and squeezed Steve's hand. "She's mad that you called and had Mildred look in Daddy's office. She's mad that the LAPD came to the house, asking her questions about his death." She paused. "Why the LAPD?"

"I had to give them the case since it happened there and not here. Trust me, I wasn't happy about it."

"Oh. Anyway, for some reason she's mad that we think it's a murder. Does the LAPD think it is?"

"I don't know; I didn't hear from them again, though the detective I talked to seemed to think so based just on what I told him. I can understand being mad that your husband was murdered though," Steve said.

"You don't get it; she's not mad that someone murdered him, she's mad that we're bringing it back up! It's almost like she was fine with it being an accident and how dare we make her relive all that pain again."

"Well, no one likes to be dragged back through a painful time, though I assume you already know that, so there's something else going on here."

Amy propped herself up on her right arm and looked at Steve. "She hates you. Hates you! She doesn't even know you, and she hates you! She thinks you ruined her life by looking into Dad's death."

Steve smirked and shook her head. "I guess she can think whatever she wants; the truth is right there in black and white. And I don't particularly care if she likes me or not."

"I care! Especially when she hates you because she thinks you're brainwashing me into thinking Dad was killed...among other things."

"Oh, what is it with the people in your life thinking I'm brainwashing you? What am I, a cult leader?" he said, less than pleased.

"Uh huh, now you're mad. See why I am? I actually slapped my own mother across the face. I've never done anything like that in my entire life, but I did today after she praised Paul for the sixth time, compared him to Daddy, insulted you over and over again, and said I wasn't smart enough to choose a boyfriend who doesn't trick me into falling for him after such a short amount of time."

"Time, time, time...who cares about time! A week, a month...it doesn't matter, does it? I'm not going to deny my feelings just because there's some unspoken timeline of when things are supposed to happen!"

Amy leaned over and kissed Steve. "Hey, I'm on your side, remember? You don't have to convince me about it. Hell, you really shouldn't have to convince my mother either."

"Why is that?" he asked, calming down slightly.

Amy began softly running her fingers through Steve's hair. "Because according to my aunt, Karen's mom, my mother came home from her first date with my dad convinced she had found the man she was going to marry. After one date. One. And...they met on a blind date, so they didn't even know each other for, what, the two days we did?" She laughed. "In comparison, we waited an eternity."

"How ironic," Steve said.

"Isn't it though? But you know, if she took that into consideration, she couldn't tell me what to do and force me to go back to LA with her. Not gonna happen now. The only way she's taking me back there is in a body bag."

Steve didn't like that thought. "How about we not talk about you dying when there's a lunatic out there who might make that happen, okay?" He pulled her over on top of him and held her for a while.

"Sorry." She didn't say anything for a moment, just listened to Steve breathe, which she found soothing. "I should have put that a different way I guess. I'm never going back there though. If she's so damn determined to hook me up with Paul, she just can never see me again."

"She actually wants you to…" He couldn't even say it.

Amy picked her head up and looked at Steve. "You're the bad guy, and he's the good guy. You believe that?"

She suddenly had the same look on her face that he had seen Jasmine have in the car before she started crying.

"Hey, don't start that again. All this crying is going to make me cry. Look, after tomorrow, Paul will be in jail, and whether your mother believes that he's still the good guy or not doesn't really matter. He'll be out of your life forever, and if you want to put your mother in that category too...you'll still have me, for good or for bad."

Amy smiled. "How did someone like me get so lucky to get someone like you? I'm surrounded by lunatics, and you still care about me. Maybe I'm a lunatic too, and you should really be afraid."

He smiled. "Then we'll have to be lunatics together," he said before putting his hands on her face and kissing her passionately.

This went on for a bit until Steve remembered Jasmine was in the living room.

"As much as I would love to explore this further," he said, clearing his throat, "I have a surprise for you in the living room, and I'm sure it's getting restless."

Amy sat up. "A surprise that's getting restless?" She gave him a confused look. "What did you do, buy me a guard dog?"

Steve sat up as well. "No, but that would have been a good idea now that you say it. No, it's...you know where Janice Duncan is right now?"

"You ask like I care."

"Just play along, will you?"

Amy shrugged. "In jail?" she asked, scoffing like it was a nonsensical answer.

Steve nodded.

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious? What for?"

"Fraud. I'm hoping she stays there, frankly."

She just stared at him. Then her shock turned to sadness. "So, if she's in jail, where's Jasmine? God, don't tell me they put her in foster care!"

Steve got off the bed and walked over to the door. "They did, actually. That place was...not ideal...so they moved her."

Amy flopped down on the bed, putting her face into the mattress. "Make me feel better, then tell me this. Thanks a bunch, Steve. Where is she, in a group home or something?" She sat back up and looked at him. "Have you ever been in those places? That poor baby wouldn't last a second!"

He put his hand on the door knob. "I learned something about you today. You are a registered foster parent."

"Yeah, so?"

"You remember a woman named Lois McFadden? She's the one who told me."

"Lois...yeah, I worked with her for a few months. She works in the office that places children with foster families." Amy still had no idea where this conversation was going.

He opened the door. "She and I decided to use that fact to everyone's advantage." He put his hand out for Amy to take.

She just shook her head, but got off the bed and took his hand. "What in the hell are you even talking about?" she muttered as Steve led her out of the bedroom and into the living room. When she got there and saw what in the hell he was actually speaking of, she froze.

"Look who I found," Steve announced, letting go of Amy's hand and stepping off to the side.

Jasmine looked up from the TV and saw Amy standing there. She shrieked and ran over to Amy, who promptly picked her up. The two gave each other the tightest hugs Steve had ever seen. Amy, naturally, started crying again. Jasmine soon followed suit.

"You two...no wonder you get along so well," he said, grabbing a tissue from the kitchen, walking over to Amy, and wiping some of the tears off her face.

"How did you do this?" she asked him quietly, Jasmine's head still buried in her shoulder.

"Got a call from a guy in fraud. I'd handed over the whole financial mess of...theirs," he said, pointing to Jasmine, "to them. They find a whole bunch of wrongdoings and she ends up…" He didn't know how to say it without Jasmine catching on that he was talking about Janice.

"In the gray bar hotel?" Amy added.

"Yeah, there. I got curious about where this one ended up, so I made some calls. Lois was more than happy to let her come here."

Amy smiled. "She was a nice lady...about the only nice one in that office. So she's ours? She's not leaving?"

Steve nodded. "At least not right away. It'll depend on what happens to our...hotel guest...and if any relatives step forward, but for now...congratulations, Mom."

Tears ran down Amy's face, but this time they were tears of joy.

Jasmine picked her head up off Amy's shoulder. Her face was wet too, so Steve took the tissue and wiped tears off her face as well.

"I guess I'm going to have to go out and buy more Kleenexes, if you two are going to be here for very long."

Amy laughed. "We'll try to cut down." She looked at Jasmine. "I am so happy that you're going to be staying with us!"

Jasmine smiled. "Steve promised me that Mama wouldn't come back and get me. She can't hit me or yell at me ever again!"

"Oh, he did huh?" Amy looked at him, worried that it was a promise he wouldn't be able to keep.

"Yeah. We had a nice talk on the way over here. We'll, uh, have to talk about it later," he said to Amy. "She had a pretty bad morning, but I think she'll be better now."

"Steve's friends came and took Mama to jail. I don't want them to bring her back, but he said they won't."

"I hope he's right." Amy rubbed the girl's back then had a thought. "Wait a minute." She looked at Steve in a panic. "What about the restraining order?"

He leaned in and whispered the word "nonexistent" in her ear.

"What?! That's impossible!"

"You ever see it? I mean, an actual paper?"

Amy shook her head.

"I had the woman check twice. Nothing on file."

Amy sighed. "I wonder if there's a class I can take to learn how to know when I'm being lied to; I'm obviously bad at it."

Steve ran his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her left ear. "Not an issue anymore though, right? Hey, I bet you two are pretty hungry by now; I know I am."

Amy turned to Jasmine. "Are you hungry?"

Jasmine nodded. "Daddy said we could have anything we wanted. I want fries."

"Daddy?" Amy asked her.

"Steve." She looked at him. "He's my new daddy, and you're my new mommy, right?" She looked at Amy, smiling.

Amy looked at Steve. He shrugged.

"I...guess we are," she told Jasmine. She then turned to Steve. "Well...Daddy...the princess wants fries, so I guess burgers and fries it is?"

"Sounds good to me." Steve headed to the front door.

"I have to go potty," Jasmine told Amy, who put her down and showed her where the bathroom was. She then came back out to the living room and gave Steve an "I'm sorry" look.

"I did not expect her to say that. I guess she really likes you though. She's not really a shy girl, but she's normally not that affectionate towards people she doesn't know well. Sorry if you didn't expect to be a father so quickly."

"If I have to be an instant dad, I can't think of someone I'd rather be a parent with than you," he said, kissing her again.

She blushed and pulled away. "The girl does have good instincts about people."

Steve smiled. "She really does; she loves you. We'll make her a better mommy and daddy than hers did anyway, no?"

Amy just looked at him and smiled. Her emotions were making her feel like a mess inside.

"What do you want?"

Amy, who'd been lost in some romantic thought about her and Steve being parents, snapped out of it. "Huh?"

"To eat. What do you want?"

"Oh. Surprise me. Make sure hers only has ketchup on it though."

"See you in a bit," he said and walked out the front door.

Amy felt a little weak in the knees, but she tried to work through the feeling. She started laughing nervously. "If my mother could see me now."


	32. Chapter 32

Paul backed a powder blue Mercury Meteor into the driveway of a house on 4th Avenue. He got out, limped to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and struggled to pull out a cardboard box. The heaviness overtook him, and he dropped it on the driveway with a thud. The contents made a loud bang as they hit the cement, causing him to look around furiously for any nosy neighbors. Not seeing anyone, he turned around and opened the garage door. He picked up the box once again and slowly took it into the garage, setting it against a wall. He then limped back to the car, slammed the trunk lid, and re-entered the garage. Closing the garage door, he threw open the door that connected the garage to the house, tossed the car keys carelessly on the kitchen counter, and went to the refrigerator for a beer.

It had been a bad day. Amy had somehow managed to disappear, and he had no idea where she was. He figured she'd run off with Steve somewhere, but his day-long efforts to find her turned up empty. He went to every spot in the city she either frequented or had even a miniscule connection to, but no one had seen her recently. In the midst of his search, he decided to switch tactics and look for Steve instead. He tried asking street people or beat cops he encountered if they knew an officer named Steve, but he was either met with strange looks or confusion. Seems there were many men on the force named Steve.

His anger grew exponentially with each failed attempt. Not having Steve's last name was making his search impossible. At one point, he became so desperate that he started looking through the phone book for anyone named Steve, but in a city of 700,000 people, that was an exercise in futility. He spent a few hours driving around the city looking for the car he'd seen Steve driving the night before, but only found one like it; unfortunately, it was black. It eventually got to the point in the day where the sun was going down, and if he couldn't find Steve in the light, he wasn't going to find him in the dark, so he had to resign his efforts and go back to the drawing board.

Before heading home for the night, he made a stop at a warehouse belonging to his father's company. His mother had given him free reign of all warehouses in the city after his father's stroke so that someone could keep an eye on them. Instead, Paul used them to either hide or steal things. This day, he took two small canisters of carbon dioxide, which were now sitting in a box in his garage. It was all part of his latest planned "accident".

After grabbing a can of beer, Paul hopped up the stairs the best he could on one foot. His temper tantrum in front of Amy's apartment door had done major damage to his right foot and with each passing hour, the pain grew. By the time he got to the top of the stairs, he could barely breathe through the pain. Carrying his beer in one hand and using the other to hold on to the wall, he made his way into the bathroom and threw open the medicine cabinet. Setting the beer can on the back of the toilet, he grabbed a prescription bottle, poured out three pills, and popped them in his mouth, washing them down with a swig of beer.

He slammed the beer can back down on the toilet and began looking for anything he could use as a makeshift cast. He didn't dare go to the hospital and get an actual cast; he had a feeling Karen had alerted the police about the hole he left in her front door. Figuring she would immediately pin it on him out of spite, he chose to remain hidden from any men in blue.

Finding nothing in the medicine cabinet, he limped into the hall and to a bedroom door. The door was covered with locks, so Paul took a large ring of keys out of his pants pocket and unlocked them all before entering. Once inside, he grabbed a large roll of gauze off a dresser and then quickly left the room, locking each lock again before putting the key ring back in his pocket. He hopped back down the stairs to the kitchen, where he sat on a bar stool at the counter. It took him several minutes of agonizing pain just to get his right shoe off. He cursed himself for being weak as he wrapped the foot as tightly as he could stand.

With a combination of another can of beer, the pain pills, and sheer will, Paul managed to walk around the house normally, or at least to his satisfaction. If he was going to put his plan into motion soon, he had to be 100%. He had a feeling his latest target wouldn't be as easy as the others.

He walked back up the stairs and into another room of the house, this one a small bedroom that was barely big enough to fit a table and a chair. It was big enough for his purposes however - it had a big enough wall to display his achievements. Walking to the lone light in the room, a torch lamp that sat in the corner by his achievement wall, he turned the switch and lit up the area. The light illuminated a wall covered in photographs, newspaper clippings, and handwritten papers.

The photographs Paul was most interested in were the ones at the end, nearest the lamp. They were photographs of his next target. He stared at them in disgust; he hated this man more than anyone else on the wall, but he was proving to be the most challenging, and Paul did not like a challenge. With enough money, intelligence, and time, the others had been easy. This time though... It's difficult to kill someone who seems to be a living ghost.

Paul started pacing the room. He needed to be completely sure of his plan. "First step, subdue," he muttered to himself. "I'll have to catch him off guard. How though?"

He paced some more, trying to think of a way to accomplish this feat without leaving a mark. Threaten him with a gun? Chloroform on a rag? Slip something in a drink? The last one would be the most effective, but it would require close contact and witnesses might be a hindrance. He scribbled some of his thoughts on a paper that was hanging by the photographs.

Before he could think any further, the doorbell rang. "Who the hell could that be?" he said to no one. "Better not be that nosy bitch next door."

He stomped out of the room like a two year old who didn't get their way. Once he got to his front door, he looked through the peephole and was pleasantly surprised at who he saw. He threw open the door.

"Mrs. J?" he said. "What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming up."

There stood Amy's mother Margaret, a scowl on her face. "Frankly, I didn't have time. There's no time for formalities and notifications in the middle of a crisis."

He invited her in and led her to the living room where he turned on some lights. She sat down on a brown leather sofa.

"Crisis? There's, uh...a crisis?" Paul stuttered.

"Yes there's a crisis!" Margaret snapped. "Amy's been brainwashed!"

Paul hesitantly sat down in a chair and looked nervously at his guest. "Brainwashed?"

"Will you stop repeating everything I say? Yes, by that cop boyfriend of hers! You can't tell me you haven't seen it!"

Paul shrugged and nodded at the same time. "Yeah...but I thought I could persuade her with my latest plan…"

Margaret did her best to give Paul a gentle smile, but it came across more like a condescending smirk. "And all your plans have worked wonders so far."

Paul sighed. He knew he was disappointing Margaret, but it hurt to have her so much as say it.

"You know what this Steve has her convinced of? That her father was murdered! Murdered! Isn't that completely ridiculous? The coroner even said it was an accident, but this cop seems to think it was murder! To him, everything is murder! And Amy...she's so stupid that she's eating it all up!"

"Don't you call Amy stupid!" Paul growled. "She's the smartest woman on the planet."

"Not now she's not! If she were, she'd be with you, not this pathetic excuse of a man. He's a bad influence, Paul. The worst we've had to face. What are we going to do about it?"

"I...I have a plan. A good plan. It will eliminate Steve once and for all."

"Another _accident_?" Margaret's tone was less than enthusiastic.

"They've all worked before, haven't they?"

"Oh sure. Until Steve Kell...Kellogg? Kelley? Keller, that's it, Keller. Until Steve Keller came along! He thinks they're all murders, don't you know?"

"Keller? His last name is Keller?" Paul's spirits brightened.

Margaret glared at him. "So what's this genius plan?"

"Diving accident. He's the adventurous type I gathered, so he'll supposedly go out boating and diving, but instead of oxygen in his air tank, it's carbon dioxide. Easy mistake to make. And if he's gone, there goes the murder suspicions, right?"

"He can't read? You honestly think anyone with a brain would mistake an oxygen tank for a carbon dioxide one?"

"Tanks can be mislabeled! Come on, Mrs. J; cut me some slack! I haven't completely let you down yet!"

Margaret stared at Paul. "Yet. So just exactly how do you plan to get ahold of him? He's a cop! And I'm more than sure Amy has convinced him he's in some sort of danger. He's convinced her she is to the point that she's hiding out at his house."

"She's hiding out at his house?" Paul sat up straight. "Where is that exactly?"

Margaret narrowed her eyes. "I don't know...Karen was driving."

"Think!" Paul nearly screamed.

Margaret was taken aback. "Geez...um...I remember seeing several street signs on the way there. The street we spent the most time on was Hyde."

"That's Amy's street! What street does he live on?!"

"Union. After Karen turned off Hyde, she turned onto Union and never left it."

Paul leaned forward. "And then…?"

"I don't know! I wasn't paying attention! He's somewhere on Union."

Paul let out a very audible sigh.

"Look, you'll figure it out; you're resourceful. But just how are you going to kidnap a cop?!"

"I don't know!" he yelled. "I have a few ideas. I just need to work out the logistics. I'll get it done."

Margaret stood up. "There's a cab waiting for me, so I need to go, but you know what would be easier?"

Paul looked up at her, less than pleased.

"She's there alone. She's the one you want anyway, so take her and knock some sense into her once and for all. If she's so easily brainwashed, you brainwash her into thinking you're her hero and Steve is the enemy. Killing him is nice and all, but breaking his heart is more cruel. Guys like him don't like to be rejected by their conquests."

As she walked toward the door, Paul stood up and followed. "Change my target?"

"Should have been your target all along." She opened the door and left without saying another word.

The minute she left, Paul lost his temper. He loved Margaret, but he did not particularly appreciate her telling him he was doing things wrong. He had managed to make six murders look like accidents, yet she was doubting his ability to perform a seventh? Just because his target was a cop? He stormed up the stairs and into the small bedroom where he ripped one of the photographs of Steve and Amy off the wall.

"A cop, huh?! You don't think I can overpower a cop?! I'll show you, you stupid bitch!" he yelled at the photograph.

He looked around and spotted a lighter on the table. Grabbing it, he immediately lit the photograph on fire and threw it in the trash can, watching Steve and Amy burn. He then turned back to the notes he'd scribbled on the wall before Margaret came.

He read and read and read until the words became blurry. They were his notes from his head, but he kept reading between the lines like there was something in his own plan he missed.

Growing frustrated at how he couldn't seem to work out a foolproof plan to kidnap and kill Steve, he started taking Margaret's suggestion to heart. Perhaps that would be easier. Take her some place where she couldn't escape, make her complaint, and no one would have to worry about Steve anymore. She would reject him, he'd go off and kill himself in misery, and all the world would be right again.

"Maybe it's time for a new plan," he growled, taking a marker and drawing a blood-red x across Steve's face in every picture of him on the wall.


	33. Chapter 33

_**I loved the reviews about how much everyone hates Margaret Johnson! It's fun writing such a repulsive person. :D Sometimes her daughter isn't very likable either.**_

Steve opened the front door. In his hand was a sack of burgers and fries, just as requested. As he walked in the apartment, he heard music coming from somewhere. Closing the door, he could tell it was coming from the kitchen.

He walked in that direction and once he got to the entryway, he saw Amy, with Jasmine in her arms, dancing and singing along to the song on the radio. Neither had noticed him come in, so he stood and watched them for a while.

After Amy sang the chorus of The Left Banke's "Pretty Ballerina", she put Jasmine down and the girl began doing pirouettes while Amy twirled her.

Steve walked in, set the sack on the table, and clapped. "Good show, ladies, good show!"

Amy, embarrassed, quickly reached over to the radio on the counter and turned it off. Jasmine, on the other hand, kept twirling.

"I'm a pretty ballerina!" she announced to Steve.

"Yes you are!" he agreed.

"Sorry about that. I probably shouldn't have turned on the radio," Amy said.

"Why not? You really should sing more often," he told her.

She blushed. "Well, when the ballerina song comes on, sometimes you just have to...dance. She loves the ballerina song."

Jasmine kept twirling as Steve took the food out of the sack and set it on the table.

"I take it your feet don't hurt much anymore," he said to Amy.

She let out a laugh. "I didn't even notice. Guess I was distracted enough."

Steve smiled. "Good."

"Go wash your hands," Amy told Jasmine, stopping her in mid-twirl.

"Do I have to?" she whined.

Amy didn't say anything, just gave the little girl a look that meant she was not interested in whines. Jasmine sighed and walked off toward the bathroom.

Steve laughed. "I've seen that look before."

"From your parents?"

"No, my partner."

Amy laughed. "Well, someone has to keep you in line." She walked over and gave Steve a hug from behind. "I forgot to say thank you."

"For what?" he asked, crumpling up the empty food sack and tossing it into the trash.

"Bringing her here. She told me about this morning. I cannot believe that woman! What kind of parent blames their flesh and blood for their own misgivings?"

"Well…" Steve started to let Amy in on the secret Jasmine had told him about her parentage, but the girl bounded back in the room.

Amy let go of Steve and looked at Jasmine. "Give me your hands."

She put up her hands, and Amy smelled them.

"Smells like soap. Okay, sit right there," Amy told her, pointing to a chair at the kitchen table.

Steve gave her a curious look.

"She likes to just run her hands under the water and think it's good," Amy explained.

"Ohh. Good to know," he said, giving Jasmine a _I'm on to your tricks_ look.

"What?" she said, putting a french fry in her mouth.

Steve chuckled and then looked at Amy. "By the way, you're welcome," he told her, giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

"Ewwww," Jasmine said, pretending to gag.

"Ewwww," Amy mocked, walking over to Jasmine and giving her a big kiss on the cheek. "Kissing is so gross!"

She looked at Steve and they both started laughing. "Welcome to parenthood," she said to him.

* * *

After dinner, Amy cleaned up the table and threw the trash in the garbage can. While she did this, Jasmine announced that she was bored, so Amy suggested they play cards, figuring that was about all Steve had in the way of games a child could play. For the next hour or so, the new family played a variety of kid-friendly games, like Old Maid, Crazy Eights, and Go Fish.

In between games, Steve got up and went to make a phone call in the kitchen. Listening in, Amy could tell he was calling the station, looking for information on whatever he'd left undone. She could also tell he wasn't getting the answers he wanted and wasn't thrilled about it. He slammed the phone down and came back into the living room, plopping down on the chair instead of at the coffee table.

"How can they have nothing yet?" he muttered.

"Calm down," she told him as she gave Jasmine the two 10s she had in her hand. "What is it that you're waiting on anyway?"

"What am I not waiting on? A warrant, lab results, news from the garage…"

"The garage?" Amy inquired.

Jasmine cleared her throat to remind Amy it was her turn to play.

"Sorry. Do you have any 7s?" she asked. "What's at the garage? Is that where your car is?"

"No. Mine's in a different lot at the station. I found Darren's car in impound. Almost right across from it, I found what I'm hoping is the Mercedes."

Amy's mouth dropped open. "Paul's Mercedes?"

"Yeah. It's been in impound as long as the T-bird. Problem is, there was no registration or anything left in it, and the...jerk…" he said, choosing his words wisely in front of Jasmine, "scratched the VIN off, so all I got was a partial."

"He scratched the VIN off? How do you even get to that? Aren't they all buried in the dash somehow?"

"Amy! Do you have any kings?" Jasmine whined. She was getting tired of having to wait while Steve and Amy talked.

"Patience, Princess. Go fish," Amy told her.

"The windshield was smashed. Made it easy to get to," Steve said.

"Is there any way to run a partial VIN? They run partial license plates, don't they? Do you have any 2s?"

"Yeah, Mike was going to do that so I could go home. The VIN is also marked on the engine block or on the frame somewhere, but we won't know that if the garage guys just let the car sit there."

"Well, speaking of going home, I assume the people in the garage and the lab and the courts also want to go home after a long day," Amy said.

"Yeah, but…" Steve started.

Amy stood up. "Hold on a second, Sweetpea," she said to Jasmine, setting her cards face down on the table. Turning to Steve, she said, "You, come here."

She walked into the bedroom, and Steve followed. She closed the door behind them.

"Hey, I know you're anxious to get this over with - so am I, trust me. This is one part of my life I would like to bury for all eternity. But I guess I'm going to have to teach both of you a little patience," she said, referring to Jasmine's impatience over the game.

"As long as you don't call me Princess," Steve teased.

"Oh, but you're so pretty," Amy cooed.

"Hey, watch it!"

Amy laughed and put her arms around him. "Look. Paul is not going anywhere. We're both still in San Fran, so he will be too. Regardless of when you get the warrant or the results, he'll still be in town. Frighteningly, I don't know where, but I trust that you guys will find him. In the meantime, there's nothing you can really do unless you go back to work and start running tests yourself, but even if you could, I'm not letting you out of this apartment. I feel much better having a man around who can shoot a gun."

"Gee, thanks. Anything else I can do for you besides shoot someone? Perhaps I could just go outside and stand guard, or maybe you'd like a beat cop instead," Steve said, acting like what Amy had said hurt his feelings a little.

"Hey, are you guys kissing in there?" Jasmine shouted from the living room.

"There's something you can do...unless you think a beat cop could do a better job," Amy told him, giving him attitude right back.

He kissed her fervidly, causing her to later comment, "No, no beat cop could do that."

"You remember that," he told her, smirking.

"How could I forget?" she asked, opening the bedroom door and leaving.

"You were kissing in there, weren't you?" Jasmine said, pretending to be grossed out.

"Maybe!" Amy said, darting over to her and tickling her sides. "Maybe I should kiss you!"

Jasmine squealed as she tried to get away from Amy.

"That seems like a fair reaction to being kissed by you," Steve joked.

"Oh ha ha," Amy said. "It's time for someone to take a bath and get ready for bed anyway."

"Why?" Jasmine asked. "I'm clean."

"You always take a bath on a school night, Missy."

Jasmine scrunched up her nose. "I have to go to school? But I didn't have to go today, and I don't want to go tomorrow. I don't like that school."

"You have to go to school so you can learn all sorts of new things and get really smart so that you can get into Berkeley when you get older."

"Berkeley, huh? Pretty lofty goal for a kindergartener, don't you think?" Steve asked.

"She wants to go where I went. Nothing wrong with that!" She turned to Jasmine. "You know what? Steve went to Berkeley too."

Jasmine cheered up a little. "You did?" she asked, looking at him.

Steve nodded. "But I did graduate from kindergarten, so you should go to school tomorrow."

She sighed. "Okay."

"Tell you what. You go get some PJ's out of your suitcase, and I'll go run the bath water, okay?" Amy said. "I'll even make it a bubble bath."

Jasmine nodded and went into the bedroom, where Amy had put her suitcase earlier.

Amy stood up and walked toward the bathroom. Steve followed her.

"How are you going to make a bubble bath? Don't you have to have something other than a bar of soap for that?" he asked.

Once in the bathroom, she turned on the faucet and then picked up the bottle of bubble bath she had found earlier off the counter. "Found this in your linen closet. At first, I thought it was strange that a man would have a bottle of bubble bath, but then I thought maybe you have an overly-aggressive Avon lady in your neighborhood."

"That is not what you thought," Steve chided.

Amy got immediately defensive. "It is too!"

Steve just stared at her.

She tried staring back, but broke down quickly. "Okay, okay! I thought maybe a woman left it here." She paused for a bit before adding, "I'm not naive enough to think you've never had women in here...taking baths and stuff." She paused, then quickly threw in, "But I did honestly wonder about the Avon lady."

"Oh, don't start that again," Steve groaned.

"Start what?"

"This...I don't even know what it is. Jealousy? Trying to make yourself feel inferior? Stop dwelling on my past relationships! The past doesn't even matter. Any woman I've ever dated in the past is there for a reason - it didn't work out. You are in my present for a reason - you're the one I want to spend my time with. As far as I'm concerned, no other woman exists, okay?"

Amy stood there like she'd just been scolded. "Sorry. I just…"

"You just feel really lousy about yourself, so you compare yourself to every woman you've never met, or even know exists, so that you can make yourself feel worse. I really don't get it. I mean, have I done something to make you think you're just a convenient fling or that I don't love you?" There was an air of annoyance in his voice.

Jasmine came out of the bedroom with a nightgown in her hands. "I'm ready," she announced.

Amy was grateful for her timing. "It's not...I'm not...never mind," she said, leading Jasmine into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She didn't want him to see her cry.

Steve just sighed. He loved this woman, but she tested his patience sometimes. He hoped that after the mess with Paul was over, she'd stop it.

* * *

Half an hour later, Jasmine came out of the bathroom, her hair wet and wearing her nightgown, and walked into the living room. Steve was sitting on the couch staring at the TV. He was still annoyed over his and Amy's conversation, yet he was also a bit sad, as he hadn't intended to make the happy mood of the evening sour.

"I'm ready for bed," she told him.

"Where's Amy?" he asked.

"Bathroom. She told me to come get you. I want you guys to read me a story."

He stood up and she took his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

"What are we going to read her?" he asked Amy, who was folding a towel.

"Sometimes I make up stories. She wanted us to make up one together," she said without looking up. "I hope that's okay. You don't have to if you don't want to." There was a sadness in her voice.

Steve knew she was also still upset about their earlier conversation. "Sounds like fun, actually," he said, hoping she'd cheer up if he seemed enthusiastic.

"I thought it would just be easier for now to put her in the bed. We can move her to the couch later."

"There's no reason to wake her; I can sleep on the couch," Steve said.

"You don't have to do that. It's your apartment, and we're just guests here. It will only be for tonight anyway."

Steve waited for her to add to her statement, but she didn't. "What do you mean, only for tonight?"

"After you get done tomorrow what you've been planning to get done, there won't be any point in me staying here. Jasmine and I will go back to my apartment. There's more room, and Karen isn't there half the time anyway."

Amy set the towel on the edge of the tub and finally looked up. She didn't say anything though; she just walked out of the bathroom and to the bedroom.

Steve sighed and followed. Once in the bedroom, Jasmine walked over to where Amy was standing by the bed. She had pulled the sheets back, so Jasmine jumped up and climbed in. Amy got in beside her and handed her Mr. Sniffles.

Jasmine cleared her throat and patted the bed on her left side.

"I think she wants you to get in," Amy told Steve.

He walked over to the left side of the bed and got in. Jasmine sunk down into a reclining position. Both Amy and Steve grabbed the sheets and blanket and tucked Jasmine under them. Amy felt awkward doing that with him, so she let go and looked down at her lap.

Steve attempted to move things along. "So, what kind of story do you want to hear?" he asked Jasmine.

"A princess story," Jasmine and Amy said at the same time.

"I should have known. Okay. I think I can manage that," Steve replied. "In fact, I have a good story."

"You do?" Amy questioned.

Steve nodded and began the tale.

_Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a small cottage in the woods. She lived alone in the woods because she was trying to get away from her wicked mother, the queen._ _She made the princess' life miserable. She told the princess what to do, where to live...she even tried to tell the princess who to marry! The queen wanted the princess to marry the prince from the castle next door, but the princess did not want to marry such an ugly, mean man. One day she ran away and found an abandoned cottage in the woods. She lived alone in the cottage without the queen ever finding her, but life was not easy. The poor princess was constantly being chased by a wolf! This made it hard for her to leave the cottage, and she felt like a prisoner. She was desperate for a solution to her problem. _

"What was the princess' name?" Jasmine asked.

"Honey, don't interrupt," Amy told her.

Steve thought for a second. "Amelia," he answered.

"Princess Amelia. I haven't heard her story before! Go on," she told Steve.

_One day, someone knocked on Princess Amelia's door. She was scared to open it at first, but when she looked outside, she saw a well-dressed older man standing there. He told Amelia that he had heard of her problem, and he had the perfect solution! But...she had to come to his cottage down the road. Desperate to get away from the wolf, and thinking that the man was a nice person, she followed him, but he turned out not to be the friendly stranger he seemed. He made Amelia his slave! The princess had to scrub the floors and dust all the stranger's wife's statues! Their house was FULL of statues. She had to do all the grocery shopping and take care of their children. They had ten kids!_ _Most of the kids were awful! They never listened to Amelia, and they called her names! The wife - she was an actual witch who cast evil spells on Amelia! The princess' only saving grace was the youngest child. She was a sweet girl who treated Amelia nicely. Well, after several months of this, Amelia woke up one morning and found the wolf eating the family._

"Oh, this is turning out happily," Amy commented snarkily. "You're scaring her."

"I'm not scared! And don't interrupt the story," Jasmine scolded.

Steve laughed and continued.

_The only one the wolf didn't eat was the nice daughter. Amelia didn't know what to think. The wolf told her that he'd eaten all these mean people for her, since they were making her life miserable. He also told her that she'd had the wrong impression about him all this time; he was really a good guy and wanted to be her friend. Amelia, being a sweet and trusting princess, agreed to be his friend, and the three went back to her little cottage in the woods. She was no longer afraid of him or the queen; if she did find Amelia, the wolf would protect her. So Amelia and the little girl lived happily in the little cottage._

"The end. Time to go to sleep," Amy said.

Steve cleared his throat, and Amy looked over at him.

"I didn't say the end. I'm not done yet."

Amy sunk down into the bed. "I don't think I like this story," she muttered.

"I do! What happens next?" Jasmine asked, leaning her head on Steve's arm.

_One night, the wolf, who was standing guard outside the cottage, saw a woman coming through the woods. It was the queen! But the wolf didn't growl or try to chase her off! He greeted her with a smile, for he was actually the ugly prince from the castle next door! The queen had turned him into a wolf to trick her daughter. Now that Amelia trusted the wolf, she'd have to agree to marry him._

"Now I know I don't like this story," Amy said.

_Buuuutttt...the little girl overheard everything that the wolf and queen talked about. She ran to Amelia and tried to tell her what was going on, but the princess thought it was silly. The little girl dragged her to see for herself. Amelia saw that the little girl was right - the queen had tricked her. Princess Amelia was angry, but she did not know how to get away from her mother and the ugly prince. Her only option was to wish for a handsome stranger to come save her._

_The next morning, Amelia woke up and looked out her window. The wolf was nowhere in sight, so she went outside to get some fresh air and pick some apples. Well, as she walked, she looked up at the trees for apples instead of where she was walking, causing her to trip over a very large branch. The princess fell and hit her head on a rock._

Jasmine gasped.

"Better than getting shot," Amy commented.

_The poor princess was out cold in the middle of the woods with a wolf after her! Luckily, a handsome stranger had been hiking through those woods and stumbled across the princess laying in the leaves. The handsome stranger leaned down and looked at her, hoping she would wake up._

"Was her head bleeding? I bet this kind, 'handsome' stranger put something on her head to stop that," Amy said, rolling her eyes.

"He did! You've heard this story before?" Steve asked, pretending to be surprised.

"Parts of it. Keep going; I'm curious about the ending."

_When the princess finally did wake up, she was surprised to see the man, but was grateful he was not the ugly prince. The stranger took her home and helped her bandage her head. They soon became very good friends. The princess felt safe having the man around because she knew that the wolf would not bother her now._

"What's the stranger's name?" Jasmine asked, yawning.

Before Steve could say anything, Amy blurted out. "Stefan. His name is Stefan. Let _me_ continue the story now."

_Things seemed peaceful until the ugly prince, who was back to being a wolf, tried to steal the princess! He didn't like that Stefan was hanging around, so he figured if he kidnapped the princess and ate Stefan, she'd have to marry him! It didn't work though; no wolf was going to scare a handsome hero like Stefan! The queen was mad. She had to get rid of this stranger somehow so that the princess would have to marry the ugly prince. So she started to look for Stefan's biggest weakness._

"Good luck with that; Stefan doesn't have any weaknesses," Steve said confidently.

"Au contraire, mon amour," was all Amy said.

_One morning, Princess Amelia woke up and found that out of nowhere, her cottage was surrounded by other cottages! They just appeared, as if by magic! These weren't any ordinary cottages though. No, these cottages all had pretty maidens living in them! The queen had found Stefan's one weakness - pretty girls. And the queen's plan worked. All these pretty maidens were looking for a hero, too, and Stefan was just the guy. He wasn't going to not help a pretty girl, even though poor Princess Amelia still needed his help. She soon found herself all alone, which gave the wolf a chance to kidnap her. He dragged her off into the woods, and Stefan didn't even notice. _

"Okay, my turn again," Steve said, not liking where Amy was taking the story.

"But I wasn't finished," Amy complained.

"You were telling the wrong story though."

_Turns out that all of that was a nightmare that the queen put in Amelia's head to make her distrust Stefan. There really were no other pretty maidens in the woods, and Stefan was only interested in the princess. He'd fallen in love with her and wanted to marry her. If he married her, then the ugly prince couldn't. So after Stefan saw the wolf carry Amelia off, he set off to slay the wolf and rescue his princess. He found them not far away, but poor Amelia was about to be eaten! _

"Oh no!" Jasmine said, hanging on to Steve's arm.

Amy, for the first time all story, was quiet.

_When Stefan found the wolf, he told the wolf that he was going to marry the princess and the wolf was going to die. The wolf laughed in Stefan's face and growled at him. He'd eaten plenty of people; what was one more?_

Steve looked over and saw that Amy had a rather worried look on her face.

_So the two fought and fought. At one point, the wolf managed to get Stefan's sword away from him! Thinking that Stefan was done for, the wolf told Amelia he'd eat Stefan if she didn't say she'd marry him. To save Stefan, Amelia agreed._

"Oh, she'd never do that!" Amy protested.

"Even to save Stefan from certain death? Stefan would save her before she had to marry him," Steve countered.

"Yes, but the wolf is really tricky, and he'd probably eat Stefan anyway."

"Well...that's just not what happens," Steve told her before continuing.

_However, Amelia did not have to worry, because Stefan pulled out a secret knife and finally slayed the wolf once and for all. Princess Amelia cried, and the two embraced, glad to be able to live without worrying about the ugly prince ever again._

"And they lived happily ever after," Jasmine said, exhaustion in her voice.

"Yes they did; forever and ever," Steve said, looking at Amy. She shyly avoided his gaze.

"Tell me another one," she told him.

"I think Steve's out of stories for tonight. Maybe he'll have another story about Princess Amelia tomorrow night. Besides, you look very tired," Amy told her.

"No I'm not," Jasmine protested, but as Steve got out of the bed, she fell down onto the pillow and closed her eyes.

"Not tired at all," Steve said. He then leaned over and whispered good night into Jasmine's ear.

"Good night, Daddy. I love you," she said softly.

Steve was surprised she'd said that. Amy looked up at him and smiled. He leaned over and gave Jasmine a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you too, Princess," he whispered.

As upset as he'd made her earlier, that few seconds more than made up for any sadness or insecurity Amy felt about her and Steve's relationship. He'd done a lot of things for her in the short time they'd known each other, none of which he had to, but this topped them all. He didn't have to take Jasmine in, and he certainly didn't have to play parent to her, but he did willingly. Even if it was a role he'd been thrown into, he seemed like a natural, and Amy admired it greatly. It made her feel terrible for ever doubting him in the first place.

She suddenly felt like crying again, so instead of leaving the room with Steve, she told him she was going to lay with Jasmine awhile, just to make sure she got to sleep okay in new surroundings. It wasn't a total lie, but she felt the need to hide her embarrassment more than make sure the already half-asleep girl was okay. As she lay holding Jasmine's hand, she let tears fall onto the pillow and wondered if she'd ever be fully happy and secure again or if she'd spend the rest of her life chasing away anything good in her life.


	34. Chapter 34

Amy lay in bed until she felt that she could face Steve without crying. She got up, slipped out of the dark room, and quietly shut the door. She came into the living room and saw Steve lying on the couch in the dark watching TV.

He looked up at her. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey," she replied.

"I thought maybe you fell asleep," he told her. "You were in there quite a while. Did she have trouble falling asleep?"

She shook her head. "All the stress from the day wore her out it seems."

"She probably feels comfortable now though, having you around, so sleep comes easily."

"And you. She really adores you; I've never seen her open up to someone so quickly."

Steve wanted to say, _Speaking of opening up, you'll never guess what she told me this afternoon…_, but he chose to leave that for another time. Instead he said, "Well, I'm connected to you, and she adores you, so…" He trailed off, not needing to complete the thought.

Amy walked closer to the couch. "I think it's more than that, but…" Her emotions were welling up again, something she did not want to have happen, so she tried to hold them at bay by closing her eyes and breathing.

"Would you come over here before you drown us all?" Steve told her, teasingly.

Amy went over to the couch and sat down at the end by Steve's feet. He rolled his eyes, sat up, and pulled her over until she was lying down next to him. He put his arms around her and sweetly kissed her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," Amy cried. She put her hands up to her face, partly to hide her tears, partly to not have to face Steve.

"For what?"

"Constantly trying to chase you away by being crazy. Crying all the time. God, you must hate me!"

By now she was bawling. Before he even attempted to say anything, Steve just held her until she calmed down on her own. When she finally did, he responded.

"I don't hate you in the slightest. Look at me, will you?"

She was reluctant to remove her hands off her face, so Steve picked up one hand. Once he did this, she took off her other hand and laid it at her side. She did not open her eyes though.

"You can't look at me like that," Steve told her.

"I'm too embarrassed to look at you," she replied.

"Baby, I'm not mad. Do I get a bit frustrated? Sometimes, but I get it. I really do. Between Paul, and your mother, and the Duncan's, and the past...I understand. Trust me, I understand what stress can do to a person. Maybe that's why it's frustrating; I want to help you get over this so badly...and I'm not."

"What could you do anyway?"

"I don't know. I...I want you to feel secure about us and not bad about yourself, but I guess I have no idea how to accomplish that."

"Trust me - there's no convincing me sometimes. I get lost in my own head and you just can't reach me. You were right earlier you know, about my fears being just figments of my imagination. It's like I'm certifiably crazy." She paused. "God...I'm going to end up like my mother. Next thing you know I'll be defending lunatics and having no idea what reality is. You probably should just get rid of me right…"

Steve put his hand over her mouth. "Are _you_ trying to get rid of _me_? Be honest."

She finally opened her eyes and looked at him. "No. I just fear you'll wake up some morning and wonder what the hell you got yourself into."

"What's to say you won't ask yourself the same thing some day? Hmm?"

"That's ridiculous! What could possibly make me want to leave you?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I've already been through all this, and I'm still here. What could possibly chase me away now?" He kissed her on the lips.

"I'm just tired of being scared," she whispered.

"Scared of what?"

"Losing you...to anything. Paul, imaginary women, a wolf...a hundred other things I'll make up so that I'll be scared forever because that's apparently the only way I know how to function."

"Well, we'll get rid of Paul tomorrow, and not by a sword fight in the woods. I just made up an ending to that fairy tale; that's not going to happen."

"I sure hope that's not what happens. Well, not the part where you won, _Stefan_."

"Of course I'm going to win. Handsome strangers always win...especially when they're telling the story."

"That does seem to make heroes come out more heroic...and better looking than they really are." Amy laughed.

"Oh is that right? Well maybe the much-more-handsome-than-the-ugly-prince Stefan should just let the wolf eat Amelia."

"Did I make it sound like you weren't handsome? That's not what I meant at all! No, no, you should definitely save her...me."

Steve kissed her while saying, "I thought you'd change your mind. You know, as far as maidens go...why would I want a lowly maiden when I already have a princess?"

As they continued to make out, Amy said, "I don't know if I'm exactly princess material."

"Good thing it's up to me and not you then, isn't it?" He started kissing the right side of her face.

Amy started getting a bit nervous about where she assumed Steve was going with this. "Umm, maybe we should hold off on this. You know, since Jasmine's just in the next room."

"Is she a light sleeper?" he asked, kissing her neck.

"Well, no...but…" Butterflies were starting to form in her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was from fear or excitement, but she suddenly felt off.

"It'll be fine...trust me," Steve said, kissing her on the lips again, this time much more passionately.

_It'll be fine...TRUST ME_. The words echoed through Amy's head, but not in Steve's voice. All she could hear was Paul saying that very same thing as he was lying on top of her, doing the same thing as Steve was doing now. She quickly admonished herself for even going there. Steve was certainly not Paul. However, despite one side of her brain telling her she was thinking ridiculous thoughts, the other side started to remind her of all the things her mother and Paul had said to her in the last couple days.

_Then he gets you alone. You've been put fully under his spell, so he hopes that when he tries to have his way with you, you won't fight back even though you want to._

_But you do love guys who try to brainwash you and get into your pants?_

_You can't seriously believe you're in love with someone you've known a week!_

_What has he done, brainwashed you into falling for him so that he can…_

Amy wanted to yell at her mind to shut up and leave her alone, but the voices were getting too loud. _Why is this happening?_ she wondered. She loved this man with all her heart, yet here she lay, freaking out about something that comes naturally to every single human who has ever loved another person in that way. She'd never been so mad at herself in her entire life.

While Amy was lost inside her head, Steve moved on to phase two. He took his right hand and moved it up Amy's left side. He positioned it under her shirt and started to move the shirt upward. In the process, he touched her gunshot wound, which was still covered by a rather large piece of gauze. Amy flinched and verbally winced.

Steve pulled away. "I'm sorry, Honey, I'm sorry. I forgot about it."

Amy leapt off the couch, ran to the corner of the room, and curled up in a ball on the floor, crying again. She also started slapping herself on the forehead.

Steve was at a complete loss. He jumped up and went to Amy. "Does it hurt that bad still?" he asked, sitting down on the floor in front of her. As lightly as he thought he'd touched her side, he couldn't understand it still hurting so badly after a week.

She leaned back against the wall, still crying but attempting to steady her breathing. Then she shook her head no.

"Let me see it," Steve said.

"Oh no!" She acted as if he'd told her to throw children into a volcano. "Nonono."

"Why not?"

She leaned left as if she were hiding that side of her body. She then put both hands over the area. "Because."

"Because why?"

"It's disgusting and no one will ever see it. Just pretend it doesn't exist."

"Oh, sure, pretend your entire side isn't there. That's easy to do," he muttered sarcastically. "Have you even seen it? Have you actually taken that bandage off and looked at it?"

"No reason to," she answered.

"No reason to? No reason to look at a wound that you need to keep clean so that it doesn't become infected? That's dangerous!"

"What does it matter?" she spit out. "I'm ruined anyway, so what if it is infected?"

Steve blew out a held in breath and ran his fingers through his hair. She was being frustrating again, this time by being completely hypocritical. Given the circumstances, Steve deduced that she was afraid of him seeing her as imperfect now that she had this bullet wound. Yet therein lied the hypocrisy.

"Honey, I don't care what it looks like. I obviously still love and want you regardless of what your skin has been through."

"He ruined me. He wanted to ruin me for others and he did it," she mumbled. She then leaned over, her chest resting on her legs, and cried into her knees. "They won't get out of my head! They just won't...shut...up!"

She was now beyond frustrating Steve - she was scaring him. "Who won't?"

"Paul...my mother...they just keep going on and on about you...and that…"

Steve sat for a while, not saying anything. "You're going to have to move past this eventually. You can't let what Paul did run your life forever," he finally told her. "You and I will never happen long term if you don't."

Amy felt like he'd just slapped her in the face. She looked up at him, anger in her eyes. "This has nothing to do with that."

"Yes it does. You flashed back to that night; I know you did. I probably shouldn't have pushed and I'm sorry, but honestly, you need to get it out of your head. You can't fight flashbacks every single time we try to…"

"Don't you think I tried?!" Amy interrupted. "I had managed to bury that for six years!"

"And obviously it didn't stay dead. You have to get rid of it, not just bury it!"

Amy got up off the floor and walked to the other side of the room to get away from Steve. He stayed seated on the floor. She chose a spot against the wall and just stood there, her arms crossed, staring angrily into the darkness.

"I suppose it would have helped if we would have talked about this first," Steve said after a couple minutes.

"Talked about what?" Amy asked.

"Sex. You being a virgin, I shouldn't have just thrown you right into it. I know you're not very trusting, and you have to have 100% trust in the person you're making love to."

Amy was taken aback. "Virgin? What makes you think that…"

Steve turned around and faced her. "Seriously? First, you tell me that you've only ever had one boyfriend. Then you tell me you've managed to bury Paul's attack for six years, yet you freak out about sex now, but not before. That pretty much tells me you never even got close to sleeping with anyone until now."

She glared at him. "Thank you, _Inspector_. But you're wrong." She looked off in another direction.

"Really? Okay then, who was he?"

"None of your business!" she said, still not looking at him.

"You made it my business. And if you don't want me to think you're lying, you better look at me."

She glared at him again. "Paul. It was Paul! Who the hell else did you think it was?"

"Are you talking about prom night?" Steve asked, almost in disbelief.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let me get this straight. The way you made it sound last night, he didn't get that far before you hit him over the head with the soda bottle. He didn't even get your dress off. Did I misinterpret that?"

She looked at him, but then quickly looked away, telling Steve he was right.

"Lawfully speaking, he didn't rape you then - it was attempted rape...he attacked you. So unless you had sex before that, then you're still a virgin."

He watched her as she appeared to be getting madder by the second. Even with only the light of the TV, he could see she was clenching her jaw and fists. She was staring angrily at the floor.

"It doesn't bother me," he told her, thinking maybe that was one reason she was upset.

She finally said something. "This is one reason women don't date cops." She looked up at him with a look that could have killed. "They're cops day and night, even off the job. They forget how to treat people like humans and not suspects."

He shook his head and got up off the floor. Now he was mad. He walked over to the coat closet, opened the door, and grabbed a jacket.

"Where are you going?" Amy asked, worry in her voice.

"Does it really matter?" he shot back. He threw on his jacket and opened the front door, only to find a short, portly woman standing there with a uniformed police officer behind her.

"Can I help you?" he asked the two, a little confused by why they were standing there at almost nine at night.

"Is Amy Johnson here?" the lady asked in a less than friendly tone.

Amy left her place against the wall and walked over to a lamp. She turned it on and then walked to the door.

"I'm Amy. Who are you?" she asked suspiciously.

The lady handed her a card. "Sylvia Travers with Child Welfare."

Before she could say any more, Amy interrupted. "Since when do you do home visits at 9 P.M.?"

"This isn't a home visit. I'm here to remove the child," Sylvia said bluntly.

Both Amy and Steve were floored. Amy couldn't even speak, so Steve piped up.

"What? What for? She's only been here a few hours!"

"There is a restraining order out against this woman," Sylvia started, pointing at Amy, "that states she is not allowed within a thousand feet of Jasmine Duncan. Having her placed in this home is a clear violation of that order."

The woman attempted to enter the apartment, but Steve stopped her by getting in her way. "Now wait a minute. I called the courts myself, and they told me there was no such order, so you have no right barging in here like this."

"Well they were mistaken," she snapped back.

"You're calling the courts a liar?"

"My office did not receive word of anything, so we are obligated to remove the child."

"How could you get word of something that doesn't even exist?" Steve shouted at her.

"Look, sir…"

"Inspector," he corrected. He gave the uniformed cop a look that reminded the man who outranked who.

"Inspector," she said snottily. "I don't care who you are. I am leaving here with the child tonight. You'll have to take up the issue with the courts in the morning. I have my orders, something I think you, being an officer of the law, should appreciate."

She pushed him aside and entered the apartment along with the uniformed officer. She handed Steve a piece of paper.

"Where is she?" Sylvia asked Amy, who was blocking access to the bedroom.

Amy shrugged and gave the woman a look similar to the ones she'd just been giving Steve.

Sylvia got close to Amy. "You should also appreciate that this is just my job. I shouldn't have to remind you that if you refuse to turn over the child, you'll be arrested and lose your foster parent eligibility."

Amy looked at Steve. "She can't arrest me, can she?! She can't possibly walk in here with a fake piece of paper and think she's taking my daughter away!"

Steve, who was looking at the paper Sylvia had handed him, just shook his head. "It looks legitimate."

"What?! It can't be! You told me…"

"I know! I don't know what happened, but there's nothing we can do about it right now." Steve sighed.

"You're just giving up, like that," Amy said, snapping her fingers. She turned her attention back to the woman standing in front of her.

"Miss Johnson, if you'll kindly move," Sylvia told her, waving her hand as to show Amy which way to move.

Amy stared at the woman. "Wait a minute. I know you. You're the one who came to the house when I called about Janice hitting Jasmine. You're the one who claimed that I was making up stories. You accused me of trying to frame Janice for abuse! That little girl's back was black and blue for God's sake! And you leave that house accusing _me_ of doing it!" Amy looked at Steve. "She accused me of making Jasmine lie about it! I'm the one who called after she told me her mother hit her!"

Steve walked over to Amy. "Honey…" he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She swatted him away. "Don't honey me!" She looked at Sylvia. "How much is she paying you? She wants me away from her daughter so badly that she bribed you then _and_ now! Well you know what?! You're getting her over my dead body!"

The bedroom door opened, and Jasmine walked out hugging Mr. Sniffles. "Mommy, what's going on?" she asked timidly.

Amy quickly turned around and went to Jasmine. "Nothing, Baby," she said, putting her hands on the sides of Jasmine's face. "Your mother is just trying to separate us again, but it's not going to work this time."

Jasmine looked at the two strangers, then to Steve, then back to Amy. Her chin started quivering. "They can't take me again!"

Steve walked over to the two. "Princess, come here," he said to Jasmine.

Amy was reluctant to let her go, but she couldn't really fight Steve. He lifted up Jasmine and took her back into the bedroom. Amy let out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Instead of watching Steve put her back in the bed, she watched him grab her suitcase.

"Listen, I know this isn't going to make any sense to you..." Steve started to explain to Jasmine, "it really doesn't make sense to me either. But you're going to have to go with these people. They're going to take you to a different home for tonight."

"NO!" Jasmine screamed. "I'm not leaving! Mommy!"

Amy ran into the room and tried to grab Jasmine, but Steve put his arm out, preventing her from getting close enough.

"Jasmine, listen to me," he said, grabbing her suitcase and walking out of the room. "I promise you this won't be for long. We'll have you back tomorrow."

Jasmine looked Steve in the eye. "You promised me she wouldn't get me. You lied to me!" She let her head fall on his shoulder and bawled.

Steve closed his eyes and fought back his own anger and sadness. "I know. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Sylvia and the uniformed officer walked out the front door. Steve followed with a wailing Jasmine. Amy, who had followed Steve and Jasmine out of the bedroom, ran out the door after them. She kept smacking Steve on the back.

"You cannot take my daughter!" she screamed at him.

He kept walking, ignoring her. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Sylvia opened the back door of her car, and Steve set Jasmine down on the seat.

Amy pushed him out of the way. She put Jasmine's head in her hands. "I know Daddy is a liar, but I promise you that I will get you back."

Jasmine nodded through streams of tears.

"Amy," Steve said, irritated.

This time she ignored him. "You kick and scream and put up any kind of fight you want with these people. You show them that I'm the only one you'll live with," she told the little girl before Steve put his arm around her waist and physically picked her up and dragged her away from the car.

Sylvia shut the door and attempted to get into the car. Amy broke away from Steve and got in her face.

"I will have your job!"

Steve once again pulled her away. "Amy, shut up. You are not helping yourself."

"I'll make note of the threat," Sylvia snapped back before getting in the car, starting it, and driving away.

Amy took off running after the car and Steve let her, knowing she'd never get anywhere. After both Sylvia's car and the black and white disappeared across Montgomery Street, Amy came slowly walking back.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she growled at Steve before running up the stairs to the apartment.

Steve ran after her. Once inside, he shut the front door and locked it. "I was trying to keep you out of jail!" he yelled at her.

"You would have been better off letting me go."

"You end up in jail, and you're never getting that girl back."

"Like you even care! You let them take my daughter away for no reason!"

"No reason?! She had an order of removal! And yes, it did look authentic!"

Amy shook her head. "I thought you were on my side."

"I am! But I think you've lost your damn mind! Telling her to kick and scream at people? Really?"

"See? You aren't on my side! You know what you are? You're worried about your job! If you try to fight those people, they'll file a complaint against you or something and there goes your cushy inspector job! Nice to know where my daughter and I stand in your life."

"Would you quit being a brat?!" Steve shouted at her. "First of all, she's not your daughter. Second, don't you consider anyone's feelings but your own? Don't you think this upsets me just a little? No, how could you know that? You're too busy blaming other people for your problems! This is my fault because I'm supposed to save you from everything. You're being irrational because of your mother. You can't make commitments because of Paul…"

Amy smacked him in the face. "Go to hell."

"The truth hurts," was all he said before storming into the bedroom and slamming the door.


	35. Chapter 35

Amy lay on the couch in the dark living room. She'd considered leaving the apartment, but she didn't want to go home or walk very far. Even though her feet felt better, they were still not up for a hike. She also didn't want to chance running into Paul. As much as she hated Steve at the moment, he was still a better choice than Paul.

Having no other real options, she chose to lie on the couch and try to sleep, but it wasn't coming easily. She was still so upset over everything that had happened in the last hour that she couldn't shut off her brain. She thought about every single thing Steve said to her and how mean or nasty or even truthful it was. He was probably right about a lot of things, but she didn't want to admit it. The way he'd said them was too hurtful for her to tell him he was right.

Deep down, she knew he was right that Paul more attacked her than raped her, but it didn't feel any different. It made her feel as violated as if he'd gone all the way. Steve was also correct about her needing to get it out of her head, but she had no idea how to do that. Burying obviously didn't work, but she couldn't see talking about it doing any good in making it go away either. The only other option was to somehow physically face it, but if that involved seeing Paul, she wasn't interested. If it involved Steve...she wasn't too interested in that either.

_I should be able to solve this_, she thought to herself. _Apparently my social work degree didn't teach me anything_.

She started thinking about college, specifically all the psychology classes she took. Before she'd decided to concentrate on working with children, Amy had considered going into adult therapy. She really had no idea why at the time, but in hindsight, she'd wanted to understand her mother, Paul, and people like them. What made them tick? Why did they say and do the things they did?

As she lay there, she told herself that she should have stuck with that instead of deciding to concentrate on children and adolescents. Maybe she wouldn't be in the place she was if she had stuck with it. Maybe she would have understood their behavior earlier and had a chance to do something about it before it destroyed her. Maybe not though. At this point, they seemed to be lost causes. The more she thought, the more she wondered if both Paul and her mother were letting painful events of the past dictate their present.

Amy knew that Paul didn't have it easy living with his father, and he certainly didn't have it easy at school, but how did all that turn him into the creep he was now? Others grew up in bad families or being bullied and didn't turn into sociopaths, so why did Paul? Were the memories so painful that he lashed out at every turn? She thought about how she'd lashed out at Steve...and then promptly, and irrationally, wondered if she'd become like Paul, letting her past anger her so much that she lashed out at everyone who tried to help.

After berating herself over that thought, she decided that she needed to evict the memories from her mind once and for all so that there was no way she'd become a deranged nutcase like Paul - or like her mother, a woman who was apparently so overwrought with grief that she'd become delusional.

Not that she'd always been completely sane. Amy's thoughts took a detour to her childhood. She and her mother had always gotten along alright, but not as well as many of her friends did with their mothers. Margaret always wanted Amy to do things her way; she pushed Amy into singing lessons, theater and dance classes, and professional performing arts work. Amy would have enjoyed those things if they had just been for fun, but her mother wanted her to follow in her footsteps. Being a performer was Margaret's dream, not Amy's, and like she'd told Steve the night before, part of her resented her mother for pushing. It never mattered if Amy told Margaret that she didn't want to sing in front of a crowd or that she had no desire to try out for a commercial - Amy's words fell on deaf ears.

They clearly still were. Margaret knew Amy didn't want to leave San Francisco or date Paul, but for reasons Amy could not understand, her mother had that vision in her head and would not let it go. She did not understand her mother's infatuation with Paul. Amy had had other male friends in school, but Margaret always concentrated on Paul. She'd often tell her daughter how nice it was that she was friends with such a lonely boy, yet in the same breath guilt her into inviting him over more often. "You don't spend as much time with him as you do your other friends," she'd say. "He's such a nice young man. He shouldn't have to sit over there alone when he has such a good friend over here." Amy shuddered.

The only thing she ever heard her parents fight about was Paul. Glen never liked him and could not understand why his wife did. He would tell Margaret to let Amy live her own life; if she wanted to spend time with Paul, she would invite him over. Amy chuckled, remembering something she once overheard her father say to her mother - "Our daughter is a smart girl, and she makes good decisions. She's obviously decided that she'd rather spend her free time with kids who are normal instead of ones who sit in their dark bedrooms trying to 'invent' things...or whatever demented activity he does with his free time. I think we should both be grateful we raised her that well."

Her mood then turned sour. What would her father think now? Was he rolling over in his grave seeing what was going on with his wife and child? Would he still think she made good decisions? She feared that he would be upset with her, either about the attack or how she'd yelled at her mother. Though if Glen were still alive, would any of this have happened in the first place? Amy figured she could have moved to San Francisco incident-free. Her father was all for it even though her mother wasn't. Then she realized that Paul probably would have followed her up here anyway, and maybe the confrontation between him and Glen would have still happened.

Amy put her hands over her face and tried to block out thoughts of Paul attacking her father. How could he have done that? He obviously had her mom on his side, so how could he have gotten so angry at her father? These thoughts were starting to make her mind race, which in turn made her head hurt, so she tried to do some breathing exercises in hopes that she'd just fall asleep and forget.

* * *

"I promise, things will look better in the morning. Or clearer anyway," Mike told his partner over the phone.

Steve, completely angry and frustrated, had called him initially just to shoot the breeze and calm down, but he'd ended up unloading the whole evening on Mike. Mike was grateful that the man who was practically a son to him had felt he could trust him with what he'd just been told.

"You still think some of this was my fault though, don't you?" Steve asked.

"To be honest, I think you're both at fault. You did and said things you shouldn't have, and so did she. Rarely are arguments in relationships one-sided. One person may be more at fault than another, but when all is said and done, both parties have contributed to the mess."

Steve sighed.

"Look, Buddy Boy, you've only been in this relationship a week, so no matter how much you love each other, you don't know each other well enough to know which buttons not to push or how the other is going to react to anything. That takes time, sometimes a lot of it! You learn new things about your partner even after many years together. No serious relationship is an overnight success."

Steve groaned. "You're not going to give me the whole lecture on not jumping in too fast are you? I'm getting tired of hearing that one."

Mike laughed. "No, I'm not. You don't have to prove anything to me. But you do need to realize the obstacles you'll face. Things have been fine for a week and then boom, you have your first fight. Neither of you were prepared for it, and now you're both blowing it out of proportion. Though in her defense, I can kind of understand; she can't really be in her right mind at the moment."

"What about in my defense?" Steve asked, slightly annoyed the Mike seemed to be taking Amy's side and not his.

"Now, don't be jealous." Mike knew exactly how to read Steve's reaction. "I'm not on anyone's 'side', and I know this is stressing you out as well, but be honest - do you know exactly what she's going through?"

Steve didn't say anything, then admitted he didn't.

"And I don't think even if you did, you'd react the same way to things as she does, at least not completely. So cut her some slack. I have a feeling that when this is all over, you'll both be much more calm and easy to deal with. But I will tell you this. You two need to sit down and talk to each other! Some of this wouldn't have happened if the two of you didn't keep everything to yourselves. I know you'll probably have to force each other, but welcome to relationships! If you truly think it's worth keeping, it's worth working on."

"It is Mike. It really is," Steve admitted.

"I thought you might say that."

"Guess I should try that talking thing now?"

"I think you two should sleep on it first. In the morning, things really will look better."

"Okay. Hey, thanks for listening to me complain."

Mike smiled. "Anytime, partner. I think I might give old Stan a call tonight. It's not too late, and knowing him, he's still up working on one of those little model ships of his anyway. If something really is going on, he'll get to the bottom of it! And if one of ours was involved, you can bet I'll get to the bottom of it!"

Steve smiled. He'd told Mike about the Child Welfare mess knowing full well the man probably knew someone, or knew someone who knew someone, that could find out if this Sylvia Travers lady really had been bribed into taking Jasmine away. Mike knew someone in practically every department that ran the city - perks of being on the job for so long. Steve just hoped he was right and wouldn't get Amy banned from ever seeing Jasmine again.

"I appreciate it, really," Steve said.

"I know you do. Get some rest. Hopefully, all this will end tomorrow. Maybe the three of us can go out for a celebratory dinner tomorrow night."

"That sounds like the greatest idea ever right now," Steve told him.

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Steve fell back onto the bed and sighed. He kind of wanted to check on Amy to see if she was okay, but he was still mad at her at the same time, so he turned out the light and stared at the ceiling instead. He didn't even bother to get undressed for bed; he had a feeling it was going to be a long, restless night anyway.

* * *

_Amy stood in the vestibule of a church. The area was adorned with vase after vase of white flowers. To her left was a table filled to capacity with silver and white gift boxes. To her right was a registry book sitting by the double doors that went into the sanctuary. She strolled over to the book and read name after name of people she'd never heard of. She looked around for other people, but she was the only one around. Looking out the front door, she saw a parking lot full of cars, but again, no people._

_After closing the door, she looked down and saw she was wearing her prom dress, torn strap and all. _What am I doing in a church wearing this? _she wondered out loud. Just then, her mother came from the sanctuary, holding a large bouquet of white roses._

"_Are you ready?" she asked her daughter._

"_For what?" Amy asked._

_Margaret handed her the bouquet and laughed. "Oh, you and your silly anxieties. Don't tell me you have cold feet?"_

"_Cold feet for what?" she asked again._

"_Getting married!" Margaret shook her head. "You're suddenly having second thoughts now, aren't you?"_

_Amy shook her head. "No. Of course not." She looked down at her bouquet and smiled. _

_Then Jasmine came into the vestibule wearing a soft pink flower girl dress and carrying a white basket filled with white rose petals._

_Amy knelt down. "Well don't you look pretty!"_

"_Thank you. My mommy said that too."_

_Amy gave the girl a curious look. "Your mommy? I'm your mommy."_

_Jasmine shook her head. "No you're not."_

"_Honey, Steve and I are your mommy and daddy."_

"_No. Don't you remember? I got taken away and then Janice sold me to another couple."_

"_Sold you?!" Amy was appalled that something like that happened. "That's not even legal!"_

_Jasmine shrugged. "They have a huge house! Bigger than anything you could afford. I have two bedrooms."_

"_But they can't love you like we can," Amy pleaded._

"_I have two bedrooms. Two," Jasmine reiterated, holding up two fingers. "Why do you keep mentioning Steve? He's mean. He lied to me."_

_Amy was upset. "He didn't lie to you on purpose. He didn't know anything was going to happen."_

_Jasmine stuck out her tongue._

_Margaret came back over and pushed the little girl toward the sanctuary doors. She then came back to her daughter, who was slowly standing back up._

"_You are a beautiful bride."_

_Amy gave her a suspicious look. "Why are you being so nice to me? You don't even like my husband."_

"_Not like him? Oh, you are silly. Honey, I love him. I am so happy that you are marrying the one man you are truly in love with - the one who loves you more than anything."_

_Amy was pleasantly surprised at her mother's change of heart. "Thank you. I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier."_

"_Think nothing of it," Margaret said, grabbing a veil off a table and pinning onto her daughter's head. She then excused herself and headed into the sanctuary._

_The doors opened and music started playing. Two by two, bridesmaids and groomsmen, none of whom Amy knew, came into the vestibule and started walking down the aisle toward the altar. A little boy in a tuxedo followed with the ring, then Jasmine followed him, sprinkling the aisle with rose petals. As she started, someone else approached Amy._

"_I can't believe you're going through with this," said the voice of a very disappointed man._

_Amy turned to her left and saw her father. She gasped in horror, because even though it was Glen Johnson, he looked more like a zombie. His skin was gray, sunken, and parts of it were starting to rot away. He was wearing the same dark blue suit he'd been buried in._

"_What the...what happened to you?" Amy muttered, horrified at the sight._

"_I died, Dear," he said._

"_So then how are you here?" She was slowly backing away from him._

"_I had to come see you get married...even though it kills me more than that bloody head wound. Kills me...get it?" He laughed._

"_Ugh!" was all Amy could say._

"_I can't believe you're marrying this slug. The boys upstairs told me about it, and you know, I didn't believe it. No way would my little girl marry him. I had to come see for myself. Amy, Amy, Amy. I should have never left you alone with your mother. I knew she'd corrupt you."_

"_Slug? Daddy, that's not fair!" Amy couldn't understand how Glen could judge Steve without having met him._

"_You did sleep with him though, so I suppose you should become at least somewhat of an honorable woman." He took his daughter's left arm and pulled her close. The dry, leathery feel of his dead skin made her want to vomit. He then took her dress' broken strap in his hand. "I don't quite approve of this method of lovemaking, but…"_

"_Sleep with who? What are you even talking about? I didn't sleep with Steve…" _

_Her father cut her off. "I can give you names of good divorce lawyers. Or, better yet, why don't you run out the door right now? I'll gladly tell everyone that there will be no wedding. Who's going to fight me?" He laughed heartily. "No one's gonna fight the dead guy!"_

_At that moment, "The Wedding March" began playing and all eyes in attendance turned toward the back of the sanctuary. Glen put his right arm through Amy's left._

"_Who is Steve?" he whispered, looking straight ahead._

"_The man I'm marrying," she whispered back, also staring straight at the altar._

"_Paul changed his name?" He shook his head. "He could call himself Jesus, but it won't change the fact that he's a murdering slug."_

"_Paul?!" Amy blurted at her father, turning to look at him. "I'm not marrying Paul!"_

"_You're not, huh? Then who is that?" Glen asked, pointing to the end of the aisle._

_Amy looked down there and saw Paul, dressed in a tuxedo, standing in front of the groomsmen. She screamed, threw down the bouquet, and turned around, ready to run for the exit._

"_That's my girl!" Glen shouted, clapping._

_Amy made her way to the front door of the church, but someone blocked her exit._

"_You are the biggest hypocrite I have ever known," Steve said, standing right in front of the door, his arms outstretched._

"_Steve! Steve, get me out of here! I don't know how this happened, but I can't marry him!"_

"_Oh, really? You don't know how this happened? Were you unconscious?"_

_Amy was shocked at Steve's demeanor. "I...I don't know!"_

"_It's not like he forced you into marrying him." Steve rolled his eyes._

"_That's it! That must be it! I wouldn't marry him otherwise!"_

_Steve shook his head and looked down at the floor, dejected. "I honestly thought you loved me. I really did. I thought you were going to be the one. But then you wouldn't sleep with me. You sleep with him," Steve said, pointing to Paul, who was now standing behind Amy, "but not me! You should have just stabbed me right in the heart." He made a gesture of being stabbed in the chest._

_Amy took his arms in her hands and started pleading. "You told me yourself that he and I didn't have sex, that it was just an attack. It certainly meant nothing to me! He disgusts me! I am so, so sorry I freaked out on you. I know you're not him, and you wouldn't hurt me like he did. I swear, I'll be more open to it next time. I'll get rid of all the bad memories and not be afraid, I promise!" She put her fists on his chest. "God, Steve, I love you! Don't make me go through with this!" She laid her head on his chest and started crying._

"_Come on, Kid, get her out of here! Show this dumbass punk what good killing me did!" Glen shouted from the back of the crowd that had formed in the vestibule._

"_You really don't want to marry this guy?" Steve asked softly._

"_I'd rather die," Amy whispered. "You believe me, don't you?"_

"_I trust you."_

"_Well wasn't this a beautiful scene?" Paul said loudly, clapping at the same time. "Bravo! Now that we have the entertainment portion of the wedding out of the way, what do you say we get to the actual wedding?"_

_Paul attempted to pull Amy away from Steve, but he held her tightly._

"_Over my dead body," he growled at the groom._

"_Really? I can make that happen," he said, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and pulling a snub nose 357 Magnum out of his cummerbund._

_Amy screamed again and put herself between the gun and Steve. "Don't shoot him, please!"_

"_Why shouldn't I shoot him? He's in my way! My father always told me the way to get to the top in the world is to eliminate your competition."_

_A few people in the crowd turned and looked at Calvin Carpenter, who was standing in the back of the crowd, healthy as could be, smoking a cigarette._

"_Oh come on. None of you actually believe that I said two words to that pathetic excuse of an offspring, do you? Besides, I never had to kill anyone to get what I wanted; it just came to me. Him?" he said, pointing at his son, "He couldn't get a girl being the only man on earth." He gave his son a sly smile as he twisted the proverbial knife in Paul's back._

_Paul responded by turning around and shooting his father in the head._

_Amy screamed for a third time._

_Paul turned his attention back to Amy and Steve. "What was that Amy? You wanted to say something to me? I'd like to get target practice over with before my gun cools down."_

_Amy's heart was racing and beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering so much, she felt like they were seconds away from escaping. Then she started laughing._

"_What the hell is so funny?" Paul asked her, annoyed._

"_You thought all this was real?" She laughed some more. "Like you said, this was just the obligatory wedding entertainment! We decided to put on this little show to sort of break up the monotony of the ceremony. Let's be honest here - weddings get boring! Not this one though, right?" She laughed again._

_One confused person in the back started clapping. A few more people followed suit until everyone was clapping. Amy took a bow. _

"_So he's not really dead?" someone asked, referring to Calvin. "He looks pretty dead."_

"_He'll come around soon enough!" Amy reassured the crowd. She then looked up at Paul and laughed at him._

"_You really thought I wanted to marry Steve Keller? I don't love him! That's insane!" She doubled over in laughter. "Oh, too funny. Now put the gun away so we can get on with this."_

_Paul kept it aimed at Steve._

"_I said put the gun away. There's no need to shoot him," Amy said, walking toward Paul._

_Paul shot Steve anyway._

_Amy screamed yet again. "What the hell did you do that for?!" she yelled, rushing to Steve, kneeling down at his side, and putting her hands on the bleeding wound in his chest._

"_Can't risk you being tempted to change your mind." _

_Paul grabbed her around the waist and picked her up. She was kicking and screaming. As he dragged her away, Steve attempted to pull his own gun out of its holster, but Paul turned around and shot him again, this time fatally. Amy screamed and thrashed as Paul dragged her back into the sanctuary._

Amy hit the coffee table so hard it woke her up. Her left hand throbbing, she sat up and looked around. She was breathing rapidly, and her heart was beating at the same pace. She kept looking for Paul, all the wedding guests, and Steve, but saw nothing but a dark, empty living room. Reality was having trouble setting in and Amy couldn't believe all the people she had just been around had disappeared. It took a good five minutes for her to realize that it had been a dream.

Despite that, she couldn't get the image of Steve, lying on the vestibule floor bleeding, out of her head. She got up and started pacing the room, hoping to dispel some of the nervous energy she was feeling before it turned into a full-blown panic attack, but it didn't work. All she could think about was Steve being dead and her never seeing him again. Then she thought about the last thing her dream self had said in his presence - I don't love him. That was worse than what the real her had said to him before he stormed into the bedroom - go to hell.

She didn't mean either one, but Steve could go to his grave thinking she didn't love or trust him. She had to prove to him that she wasn't going to let her past turn her into a monster...and she had to set it straight right that second.

* * *

Steve hadn't even closed his eyes since he'd gotten off the phone with Mike two hours prior. He kept staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to say to Amy that wouldn't upset her any further. Nothing he thought of seemed right though. He didn't even think a simple "I'm sorry" would work. He'd never seen her so angry and defensive, but like Mike had said, he really didn't know if that was a normal reaction or not. Maybe she always reacted that way to being told she was even slightly in the wrong. Either way, part of him was afraid he'd stepped so far over the line with her that she'd never forgive him. He couldn't stand the thought of her walking out on him forever.

"Damn it, Steve! Why did you have to say those things?" he said out loud, hitting the mattress in anger. He considered getting up and going out to Amy, but he figured she was asleep by that time. He hadn't heard a thing from the living room.

Just then, the door opened and Amy came in, crying. Steve bolted upright.

"What's wrong?" he asked, worried.

She ran over to the bed and crawled in. "I am so sorry!" she wailed as she flopped face first onto the bed. She buried her face in a pillow.

He flipped her over and embraced her. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay," he said, whispering into her right ear.

"I didn't mean it! I really didn't! I didn't think he'd shoot you if I said I didn't love you! But then he shot you anywaaayyyy."

Steve realized she'd had another bad dream. "Who shot me?"

"Paul. I thought if I pretended to not be in love with you, he'd let you live, but he shot you anyway and dragged me back into the church."

"The church?"

"I was there to marry him! And my dad was dead, but he was there to give me away anyway. And my mother was glad that I was going to marry him! Janice had sold Jasmine to some people, and she was happier that she had two bedrooms than she was living with us. We couldn't give her two bedrooms after all."

"Shhhh...it was just a bad dream. And weird. But certainly not true."

"I can't let you die thinking that I hate I you. I love you! I don't want to marry Paul, ever. You were right...I let him get into my head and ruin my thinking, which is stupid because no matter what I say, he's going to shoot you anyway. I don't want to have to walk down the aisle with a zombie and then marry _him_…" She was talking a mile a minute and not really making much sense.

"Whoa, slow down. Just take a breath, okay?" He stroked her cheek as he kept reminding her to breathe.

She took a few deep breaths. "I didn't want the last thing you ever heard me say be, 'Go to hell' or 'I don't love him.' I didn't mean it. I just got mad...because you were right, about everything. I'm a complete mess, and I'm letting my past ruin my future, just like Paul and my mother."

"You are not like them at all!"

"I'm letting events of the past dictate my present. The dumb things I do in the present are ruining my future. I'm ruining the only good thing in my life right now...just like they want me to. They've put too many bad thoughts in my head, and I'm going to lose you."

"Let _me_ put some thoughts in your head. You are not going to lose me, especially on account of Paul or your mother. You are not acting like them, even if the past does bother you. I don't know what it's like to go through what you went through, yet I tried to make you get over it like it never happened. I was wrong, and I am very sorry. I tried to pressure you into something you weren't ready for. I was worried that I'd actually chased _you_ away."

Amy put her hands on his face. "No, you were right. I'm being a baby and letting it get in my way. I love you more than anything, and I can't lose you. I just can't." She suddenly pulled his face close to hers and put her lips on his, lightly at first, and then more deeply as neither pulled away.

"You know that when I said we'd never make it long term if you didn't get past the attack, I didn't mean you had to get over it in two hours," Steve told her after they both came up for air. "We don't have to do this now; we can talk about it first."

"Talking won't help. Talking never helps. You have to jump in and confront the fear to get rid of it, not talk it to death," she said, kissing him again.

"Is that right?"

"Mmm hmm. Like, when I was a kid, I had this huge fear of roller coasters. Then I went to Disneyland with some friends, and they dared me to ride the Matterhorn. I didn't want to admit to being a chicken, so I got on and faced my fear of roller coasters. Talking about it wouldn't have gotten me on that thing."

"Ohhh, so everyone was right - I am brainwashing you into sleeping with me, just like your friends did to get you on that coaster. I just didn't realize it," he teased.

She smacked him in the arm.

He laughed. "So what happened? You conquer your fear?"

"I don't know. I got off and puked. I haven't ridden one since."

"Well isn't this romantic? You're comparing sleeping with me to getting sick on an amusement park ride."

She smacked him in the arm again as he laughed.

"Oh my God, I am not! Though I better have more fun on this ride than I did on that one."

"Satisfaction or your money back, guaranteed," Steve said suggestively.

Amy laughed.

"At least you're laughing now instead of crying. Seriously though, I'm really sorry about everything that happened. You don't have to do this just to hold on to me though. I won't love you any less."

"I know," she said softly as she started unbuttoning Steve's shirt, "but in my mind, this is how I can show you that I really do trust you and know that you're only trying to help me, not hurt me. It's how I have to get past the past."

"Then who am I to argue?" Steve said as he kissed her passionately.


	36. Chapter 36

**_We've made it to judgment day! Thank you all again for reading; I truly appreciate the encouragement._**

Amy woke up slowly, forgetting momentarily where she was. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, remembering the last few hours. She'd been angry at her mother, happy that Jasmine was living with them, angry at Steve for embarrassing her and forcing her to face her attack, heartbroken that Jasmine had been taken away, scared after her nightmare, and some sort of cross between nervous and giddy now. She felt like she really had been on a roller coaster, only this time she felt less sick to her stomach.

She turned over and faced Steve, who was fast asleep and lying on his left side. As she watched him breathe, she reminded herself for the thousandth time how lucky she was to meet the only man in the world who would put up with her crap. He really should have walked out on her or kicked her out after how she acted, but he didn't. There couldn't be other men in the world who would do that. Even if there were others, Amy didn't care. She wasn't looking; she'd found her prince. She just had to make sure she could keep him.

Sitting up, she glanced at the clock on Steve's nightstand. She thought it said 5:30, so she laid back down, but sleep was long gone despite being awake half the night. Ten minutes later, she got tired of staring at darkness and got out of bed. The problem then was that she had no idea where her clothes were. She got on her hands and knees and tried to feel for the garments. After a couple minutes of this, she had what she hoped were her panties and shirt in her hand, so she headed to the bathroom.

The light was too bright and Amy had a hard time keeping her eyes open. She looked at what was in her hand. She had managed to grab the right undergarment, but she'd gotten Steve's dress shirt by mistake.

"Oh, who cares?" she muttered and threw on the articles. After freshening up, she walked back into the bedroom to see if Steve was still asleep. He was, but she noticed he seemed a little restless.

She sat down on his side of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair. "Poor baby...I hope you're not having a nightmare now too. Especially if it's about me." She sat there for a moment, and Steve never woke up, so she gently kissed him on the cheek and left the bedroom.

* * *

Steve threw his eyes open and gasped. Realizing he was in his own bed, he took a deep breath and let it out. He was sweating and felt like he'd just run a mile. He lay looking at the ceiling for a few minutes until he felt like he'd calmed down enough; he didn't want to move too much for fear of waking Amy. Turning to make sure she was still asleep, he saw no one lying beside him. He sat up and began to panic. Leaping out of bed, he threw on a robe and left the bedroom.

In the living room, he saw his girlfriend standing at the window gazing out. When she heard him come in the room, she turned her head in his direction.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" she asked.

He walked toward her. "No, not really."

"Not really? What does that mean?"

He stood behind her and put his arms around her shoulders. "Your nightmares are starting bug me now."

She grabbed his arms, which were folded over her chest. "Don't tell me you had one too?"

"Yeah. I kept running around this abandoned house looking for you, and no matter what room I checked, you were nowhere to be found. You kept calling for me, but I could never reach you. Then, the calls just stopped."

"I didn't die, did I?"

"I don't know; everything went black, and then I woke up."

"Well, like you told me, it was just a dream. I'm fine and not lost in a house somewhere, just like you aren't lying dead on the floor of a church."

"True, but when I woke up and you weren't there...I panicked a little."

Amy laid her head back on Steve's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

He kissed her cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah...just thinking."

"About what?"

"A little bit of everything. I stand here and look out at this huge city and I wonder which of its rat holes Paul is hiding in. Hopefully it's one you guys can find easily."

"We will. We're good at what we do."

Amy chuckled. "Yeah, you are. You guys managed to finally uncover a two-year secret that no one else even considered...including me."

"It helps when that certain someone involved actually tells someone else about the problem."

"Touché. But still, another cop may not have thought anything about it. I'm grateful to both you and Mike. I'll never pay you guys back."

"I don't know about Mike, but I have a few ideas for how you can pay me back," he said, kissing her ear.

"Oh ha ha."

Steve laughed.

She sighed. "I also wonder where Jasmine is." She swallowed hard, trying to rid her throat of the lump that was forming. "I hope she's not frightened."

Steve tightened his embrace. "I'm sure she's okay. Unless she listened to you about throwing a fit. Not the best advice you could have given her, you know."

"I know. I just...I was so mad. Nothing in my life ever seems to…"

Steve could tell she was getting emotional, so he led her over to the couch. He sat down, putting his feet up on the coffee table. She laid her head in his lap, and he draped his right arm over her. She then took his hand in hers.

"My one good parent dies. I have a huge fight with the only man who can put with me. They take my little girl away. And I know, I know...she's not mine, but she should be."

"I didn't say a thing, and I don't disagree. You'd be a great mom for her."

"Thanks," she said quietly. "That is if I don't keep losing my mind. Next time, you really should just hit me. Or walk out. That would probably scare me into thinking straight."

"I sensed it would have last night. You sounded a little worried when I went to leave."

Amy sniffed. "I was. And I deserved to be. My idiotic fears are not your fault. Neither was Jasmine getting taken away. I know you didn't want that any more than I did. You just happened to be thinking rationally, and I wasn't."

"First of all, your fears are not idiotic. I just don't understand them, that's all. I will try though. And second, you're right; I didn't want to have to hand her over, but everything seemed legitimate. I couldn't refuse to hand her over just because you didn't want me to. Then you got all selfish and made me feel like I didn't care. It made me mad. I'm sorry I yelled you, but…"

"I deserved it."

"Yeah, you did."

Neither said anything for a moment. Amy then let out a sigh.

"I just know something is going on. Having that same woman show up both times...can't be a coincidence. She's hardly the only person in that department. Plus, I think they would have had Lois come back since she is Jasmine's caseworker. It's just too…" She trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but what happened the first time?" Steve asked.

"You can probably tell that Jasmine isn't really a shy girl when it comes to talking to people she's comfortable with. Well, a few months back, I noticed that there were certain days where she was abnormally quiet. Quiet enough that it bothered me. So I started making note of the days; I thought maybe something was happening on those days that bothered her."

"And you noticed something."

"Mmm hmm. It was always on a day after she'd had to be with her mother. Like, I never worked Sundays, so Jasmine was moody on Monday. Some days I had work to do for school, so I didn't work those days either. The next day, grumpy Jasmine. I'd ask her why she was so quiet or testy, but she never told me. When I could, I would read her journal, but she never said anything worthwhile there either. Then one day I touched her back, and she winced. I lifted up her shirt, and her entire back and black and blue."

Steve groaned.

"She was hit so hard that there was a handprint on her back! She finally told me that her mother hit her for pretty much anything she felt like."

"So being the licensed social worker you are, you call Child Welfare."

"Damn right I did. Janice tried to get me to regret I ever did, but I still don't. I didn't care how ostracized she became at the club. People deserve to know what kind of woman they are friends with! Anyway, they told me they would investigate, and I told Jasmine that if anyone asked, to just be honest with them about what her mom did. When this Sylvia woman came, she took Jasmine into a room where neither Janice nor I could go and influence her. They came out and suddenly this woman is in my face about making false accusations. She said there was no proof, and Jasmine said nothing about her mother touching her. Janice suggested I did it! Sylvia agreed with her!"

"That does sound a little like someone got to Sylvia...and Jasmine...although I know that happened. She told me Janice made her lie."

Amy gasped. "She did?! Why that conniving bitch! I knew something like that happened!"

"Hey, hey, calm down. Look, last night I called Mike and told him what happened. He knows someone in every department that runs this city, including Child Welfare. He thought something sounded fishy as well, so he was going to make some calls. If something really did happen, we'll find it."

"Really?" Amy perked up. "You did that even after I told you to go to hell? You're too good to be true."

"Some days I need to be reminded that I'm not perfect, you know? I might need to go to hell occasionally."

Amy laughed. "Whatever you say, Prince Steven." She paused. "Your name is Steven, isn't it?'

He laughed. "Yeah, it is. That's kind of telling, isn't it?"

"Trivial details...though the queen would be having fits. What did happen to the queen at the end of that story anyway?"

Steve thought for a second. "She realized her mistake once she saw how happy her daughter was and she let them live in the castle in peace."

"If only that would really happen."

"Have a little faith. She can't seriously be pro-Paul after we arrest him and the entire world learns what he's done, can she?"

Amy just shrugged.

"We can hope," he said.

"Okay." She didn't really buy it.

Steve sighed. "I guess I should get ready to go to work."

Amy whined, "Do you have to? Can't we just stay like this for the rest of day?"

"I'd love to, if you don't want us to find Paul and put him away."

Amy sat up and leapt off the couch. "Go to work!"

Steve laughed and got up. "Yes, ma'am." He started to walk toward the bathroom, but then stopped, turned back around, and took Amy's hand.

"Are you okay with...everything we had problems with yesterday?"

"You mean did I conquer that nasty fear? I don't know...do you think so?"

Steve nodded. "Oh yeah. I'd definitely say you did."

Amy blushed. "I'll take your word for it."

Steve paused before he asked, "Will you show me now?"

"Uh...show you what?" Amy wasn't sure where this was going.

He led her into the bathroom. Once in there, he stood Amy in front of the mirror and lifted up his shirt that she was wearing, exposing the gauze-covered wound.

"Consider it a trust exercise," he said before ripping off the bandage and throwing it in the garbage.

She immediately covered her face with her hands. "Put it back," she said in the sad voice of a little girl.

"Honey...it doesn't look that bad."

"You're just saying that. Put it back, please?"

He sat down on the toilet, which was right next to the sink Amy was standing in front of. "No, I'm not just saying that. I've seen several gunshot wounds in my career, and yours looks pretty good. I bet we'll barely see it once it's completely healed." He looked at her holding her hands over her face. "Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

"Then look at it."

She very slowly took her hands away from her face and turned her head to the left. She grabbed the shirt from Steve and looked at the scar. It was only about 4-5 millimeters wide, stitched together with black surgical thread to form a jagged line, and appeared to already be healing around the edges. The scar itself was still red, but the skin around it looked normal.

"Isn't it supposed to be round?" Amy asked in a shaky voice.

"The surgeon had to cut a little to get the bullet out," Steve told her. "They had to sew it back together. So you'll end up with a five millimeter long line on your side instead of a circle."

Her eyes began welling up with tears.

"You were actually very lucky. I talked to the doctor one day, and he told me that not only did the bullet remain fully intact, but it didn't go in very far. It sounds like when Milani shot you, it was from farther away than I thought."

She gave him a curious look.

"I thought he shot you point blank. According to the doctor, it was much farther away, like as he was doubled over and you were trying to run away. It all happened so fast - I couldn't be sure anymore. Plus, it was a small gun with small caliber bullets. You really are very lucky."

"Still…" Tears fell out of her eyes, and she threw down the shirt.

Steve pulled it back up. "What do you see when you look at that?" he asked her.

"Eww," was all she said before she forced him to let go and put the shirt down.

He pulled her over to him, putting his arms around her waist and laying his head on her side. "Okay...I'll tell you what you see. You see a bad memory. You see Paul scarring you for life. You got shot because you were at Carl's funeral, which only happened because Paul killed him, so that scar reminds you of everything Paul has done."

Amy put her left arm over Steve's shoulders but stared straight into the mirror, not looking down at him. "What a psychological thing to say, Dr. Keller," she said emotionlessly.

"Yeah, I took some psych classes. I also took a lit course or two, so I know about symbolism. Tell me, am I wrong?"

She said nothing.

"You know what I see?" he asked.

"A gunshot wound?"

"How literal. No, I see the beginning of the rest of my life," he said with a smile.

She looked down at him. "Huh? How does it have anything to do with _your_ life, other than you feeling guilty about it?"

"Not all scars are bad. Some are actually memories of good things."

"For instance..." She was highly doubtful.

"C-section scars. Sure, you have a scar as wide as your abdomen, but what does it symbolize?"

"That you had a baby," Amy answered, like it was the dumbest question ever.

"A pretty happy event, right?" Steve reminded her.

She nodded slowly as she started running her fingers through his hair. "So you're saying that every time a woman looks at her C-section scar, she's reminded of her child. Okay, I get that, but this isn't the aftereffect of a new life."

"It's not?" Steve looked up at her. "Let's play what if. What if Paul hadn't killed Carl, so you wouldn't have been in the cemetery that morning? Where would you be today?"

Amy got out of his hug, walked to the door, and looked at him, having no idea how to answer his question.

"What was your life like before that day?" Steve asked as a prompt.

Standing in the doorway, she said, "Well...I was working at the Duncan's...trying to find a job...sitting around moping…" She threw up her hands like the rest really didn't matter. "What were you doing?" She paused, then added, "Forget I asked. We're going to forget the bubble bath incident."

Steve folded his arms over the counter. He then laid his head on his arms and looked up at Amy. "Maybe I should be happy you're jealous. Then I'll have nothing to worry about." He winked at her.

She just looked at him, wiping away a stray tear. "You're such a jerk," she said teasingly.

"But you love me anyway." He smiled at her.

She couldn't resist his smile. "Well...I didn't say you weren't a charming, handsome jerk. Okay, so if I weren't standing here half-naked in your bathroom right now, what would you be doing?" She then quickly threw in, "And don't say looking at some other half-naked woman or I'll do to you what I did to get this scar."

"Ooo, feisty. Seriously though, I got up, went to work, came home, did it all over again the next day. Occasionally do something with Mike...and yes...sometimes a woman. Sue me."

Amy looked up at the ceiling, embarrassed.

"But I'll be honest with you - it was just like going through the motions. Nothing real memorable, nothing worth keeping around. Hell, I don't even remember the name of the last girl I went out with."

"Now I know you're just saying that!" Amy said.

"No, I'm serious. I do remember looking at my watch a lot during dinner. I think I looked at it more than I looked at her."

Amy chuckled.

"Then came April 17th, and that whole empty, forgettable part of my life ended when I laid eyes on a beautiful, but sad, woman in black at a funeral."

She laid her head on the door frame. "And now your life is full and memorable because of me?"

Steve stood up and walked over to her. "I remembered your name, didn't I?" he said, laughing.

"Oh, I'm flattered," Amy uttered.

Steve swept her up in his arms. "That's what the scar represents to me - meeting the love of my life, something I don't like to think about never happening. I screwed up that whole standoff just because I didn't want you to leave the cemetery without getting to meet you first."

"And if you hadn't screwed it up…?"

"I'd be driving all over the city looking for you."

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," Amy said, getting teary-eyed again. "And to think it all started at the saddest place on earth during the saddest thing a person can go through."

"When you start at the bottom, the only place you can go is up," he said, kissing her.

"I don't feel like I'm going up sometimes," she admitted. "Though I would be much further down without you."

"I'd believe that more if you'd stop crying!" he teased.

"These are happy tears, I swear! It's just that...you're the first person who's ever treated me like this, and I...just…" She trailed off, not sure of the right words to use, so she kissed him instead. Then, she quietly said, "Thanks for being the first."

Steve caught on to the double meaning. "And thank you for being the last," he told her through the kiss. He then carried her back into the bedroom.

"Don't you have to get ready for work?" Amy asked him. "Not that I'm busy right now."

"I've got five minutes," he told her.

"Oh! Lucky me!" Amy laughed as Steve threw her on the bed.

* * *

Amy wandered into the kitchen, now wearing her own clothes. She considered trying to make breakfast, but after finding the fridge void of any kind of breakfast food, she decided Steve probably wouldn't have time to eat anything anyway. Instead, she grabbed a box of Corn Flakes that she'd seen in the cupboard the day before and poured herself a bowl. Not even grabbing a spoon, she took the bowl into the living room and began eating the cereal with her fingers as if the flakes were popcorn. She took a spot at the window and began looking out again, this time at the bay instead of the city.

The morning was a bright, clear one, giving Amy a good feeling, though she kind of wished it had been raining or cloudy instead, considering the mood that she felt hung over the city. As she slowly ate the cereal, she wondered if Jasmine's foster family was getting her up and going for school or if the girl was fighting them. She wondered where Paul was and if he was planning something. Not knowing how much he knew about the investigation made her sick to her stomach. What did he have planned for Steve? He had to have something, considering how much he hated Steve. _Look what he did to the rest of them_, she thought. _It would be my luck to find such happiness and then lose it._ Suddenly she felt too ill to continue eating, so she took the bowl back to the kitchen and set it on the table.

She then decided to check for the newspaper. Opening the front door, she stepped out into the cool morning air. She took a deep breath, happy to be outside for the first time in over 24 hours. The newspaper was laying at the bottom of the steps, so she walked down to pick it up. Once she did, instead of walking back up the stairs, she looked east toward the bay once more. There were a couple boats on the water, and she could tell there was plenty of traffic on the Bay Bridge. She turned and looked west. There were a couple cars coming off Montgomery and turning west onto Union. There was a woman jogging with a dog across the street.

Life was going on as if nothing bad were happening, and Amy had a hard time wrapping her head around it. She wasn't sure why she thought everyone's life should stop just because there was a killer out there or because she was scared, but she felt it odd that life seemed to go on without her as if there were nothing wrong in the world. She shook her head and climbed the stairs.

Back in the apartment, she unfolded the newspaper and started picking through the sections. After reading a couple fluff articles, she ended up on the pages with the obituaries. She started reading about the lives of people she didn't know, relieved to see that most of them were elderly and had lived a long, full life. Then she saw one for a man in his 30's who was taken in an automobile accident. There was another for a man even younger who had been shot and killed. That one bothered Amy. She read the obituary over and over again, fascinated with how his loved ones had managed to come up with things to say under such horrible circumstances. She read it as if she were trying to memorize the details in case she'd have to do the same.

"Did you find something to eat?" Steve asked, walking into the kitchen while tying his tie.

Amy jumped, not hearing him come in.

"Sorry, Babe. I didn't mean to scare you," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "What are you so engrossed in?" He finished with the tie and walked over to the refrigerator to get some juice.

"I...uh...I was reading the obits."

"Why?" he asked, grabbing a small glass out of a cupboard.

"Something to read. Hey, Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"How old are you?"

He finished pouring the juice and put the bottle back in the refrigerator. "Twenty-nine. How old are you?" he asked, shaking his head and laughing to himself at the fact that he'd slept with her before even asking her age.

"Twenty-five." She looked back at the paper.

"I'm robbing the cradle," he snickered, but then noticed she wasn't paying any attention. He took a drink of juice then walked over to her and pushed the paper down. "Why do you ask? You still have a few months to shop for presents."

Not looking up, she said, "Well, if I have to write one of these things, I should at least know how old you are."

Steve ripped the paper out of her hands. "You're not allowed to read the paper anymore," he told her, setting his glass down on the table and throwing that section of the paper in the trash.

"There was a guy in there who'd been shot, and I…" she said, trying to explain herself.

He got in her face. "I am not going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, hopefully not until I'm 100 and I have twenty great-grandchildren fighting for my inheritance. Is that alright?"

"Oh yeah. Of course. Sorry, sir." She looked down at the ground.

Steve took her head in his right hand and softened his demeanor. "I am going to be just fine, I promise. Paul may have gotten the upper hand on everyone else, but he's never dealt with a couple of cops before. If he does try to fight back…" He swallowed hard, not liking the sound of it any more than Amy. "..if he does, he'll lose."

Amy responded by putting her arms around Steve and burying her face in his neck. "I'm sorry for worrying. I know it bugs you."

Steve reciprocated her embrace. "Never be sorry for worrying. If someone worries about you, that means someone loves you, and who wouldn't want that? Just don't give yourself an ulcer over it, okay? Today is just not going to be that day. It's not."

Part of Steve was just as scared as Amy, but he couldn't let that out. It would just worry her more and show some kind of weakness on his part. They hugged for a moment longer, as she didn't want to let go of him for fear it would be the last time, and he wasn't overly anxious to leave her presence either.

Finally, he said, "Hey, I gotta go or Mike will be scolding me for being late."

Amy nodded and let go of him. She wiped tears off her face and followed him into the living room, where he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

"Now, don't spend your whole day making yourself sick sitting here worrying. Promise me?"

"I'll try my best," she said quietly.

"That's my girl," he said, taking another moment to give her a sweet, lingering goodbye kiss.

"Call me when you can," she whispered.

"The second I can," he told her. "I love you, you know."

"I love you more," she replied, wanting to start bawling.

"You couldn't possibly," he said back and then quickly left before he had a change of heart.

Amy stood at the living room window and watched him drive away, sick with worry that she'd just sent him off to meet the same fate as those before him.


	37. Chapter 37

Steve came into the squad room and found that Mike was already at his desk. He walked into his office, where the older man was looking over a piece of paper.

"Please tell me you have some good news!" Steve said, sitting down in a chair.

"You sound better than you did last night. You guys have a talk this morning?" Mike asked, looking up.

Steve blushed and cleared his throat. "Yeah, just like you suggested. We're fine," he said, adjusting his tie.

Mike snickered. "You talked, huh?"

Steve squirmed in his chair. He felt like he was having "that" talk with his father. "What? Yeah, we talked this morning!"

Mike grinned. "Uh huh. Well good; I'm glad you guys are okay."

Steve nodded. "We are. About that news?" he asked, desperate to get off the topic of his love life.

"For so early in the day, I have all sorts of news. I guess the lab and garage knew how anxious you are to get this over with."

"Hit me."

"Riley actually took all that camera footage we gave him yesterday home with him and spliced it together last night."

"It really shouldn't surprise me that he has equipment at home to do that," Steve said.

"Me either, but I think we owe him a steak dinner or something for what he found."

"He saw Paul!" Steve said excitedly.

"Clear as day. He had to put two different pieces of footage together, but he got a nice clear shot of Paul pushing that poor girl down the stairs."

"I love modern technology. Anyone else up early?"

"Yeah, Berkeley PD. Some guy named Jenkins called, wondering if you were done with his evidence yet."

"Did we get the results from the cocaine?"

Mike shook his head.

"Then he'll just have to chill. I'm sure they can spend their time catching speeders in the meantime. Next."

"Yeah, the garage. To keep a long story short, it was Paul's car, and the two were, and I quote, 'undeniably in the same wreck.' A couple guys from accident investigation are piecing the wreck together to see if they can figure out exactly what happened. It'll take a while, but…"

Steve was annoyed at the weird pause Mike put in his sentence. "But….what? You're killing me here, Mike!"

Mike took a piece of paper off his desk and stood up. He handed Steve the paper.

Steve anxiously took it and read the print. Then he smiled. "Arrest warrant."

"Only for Carl Duncan's murder right now, but soon O'Brien will be able to tack on Darren and Shannon as well."

"What are we waiting for then? Let's nail this SOB."

Mike grabbed yet another paper off his desk.

"What's that?"

"Every address Paul Carpenter is possibly associated with." Mike handed the paper to Steve.

Steve took a short glance at the paper. "That many?!"

Mike nodded as he grabbed his coat and hat. "Any building in the name of his father's company and every house his father owns as rental property. There are over 30 sites on that list."

Steve groaned.

"Tanner and Murphy are taking a few of them."

"Still...we better get started."

They both started walking out of the office, but Steve stopped.

"What if we end up chasing him all over town? I mean, what's to say that he doesn't somehow find out we're looking for him, so he keeps going from building to building, avoiding us altogether? I don't trust this guy, Mike," Steve asked, sounding discouraged before he even started.

"You don't think I thought of that?" Mike asked, a smile on his face. "Shame on you!"

"Enlighten me."

"Devitt, Olsen, and I talked this morning, and we have ordered extra patrols around the warehouses and the neighborhoods. He'll have a hard time avoiding us."

"I'm glad you think of everything," Steve told him.

* * *

A blue Mercury pulled up in front of an apartment building on Hyde Street at five past nine in the morning. A slim-built man wearing a delivery uniform, a baseball cap, and sunglasses got out of the car and walked toward the building. In his hands was a plain cardboard box. He took the elevator up to the third floor and upon exiting the car, walked promptly to apartment 306 and knocked on the newly installed door.

"I know I'm late, Mom! Give me a sec!" a voice shouted from inside. Karen, who had been loading up her book bag for classes later in the day, finished putting her hair into a ponytail and ran to the door. She didn't bother to look through the peephole, assuming it was her mother. She was late meeting her for breakfast and assumed the woman came to get her instead of waiting at the hotel.

Once she opened the door, the fake delivery man shoved his way in, causing Karen to slam into the wall. "Where is she?" he asked angrily, throwing the empty box on the entryway floor.

Karen, quickly recovering, became instantly angry at her visitor. "Get the fuck out of my apartment, Paul!" she screamed, slamming the front door. Knowing he wouldn't leave, she tried to make her way past him and to the phone, but he grabbed her arm.

"What do you think you're going to do, call the police? Maybe you should call him. He can come save you, maybe hand her over at the same time."

"I don't know who you're talking about!"

Paul twisted Karen's right arm so hard, she heard something in it snap. She cried out in pain and fell to her knees.

"I asked you where she was. Where is Amy?" Paul growled.

"I don't know!" she yelled. "I swear!"

He dragged her by the arm he had just broken over to a dining table chair. He threw her down into the chair and grabbed a rope that he had stuffed in his back pocket. Karen cried in pain as Paul tied the rope around her waist. He then tied her left arm to the chair and looked her in the eyes.

"You know, I don't like you. I don't like anything about you. I never have."

Karen spit in his face. "The feeling is mutual, asshole."

He backhanded her across the face before wiping the spit off onto his sleeve. "I would love nothing more than to kill you right now. Those others...yeah, they all deserved to die, but you? You deserve it more than anyone. You've been a thorn in my side for years. How many lies did you ever tell Amy about me, huh? I know you used to tell her I was demented, and a freak, and that she shouldn't be friends with me. I think she believed you. What else could have made her turn on me like that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps raping her hurt your relationship! Killing my uncle probably didn't win you any brownie points either."

Paul backhanded her in the face again. She groaned.

"I did not rape her! She only thinks that because that idiot put that idea in her head! He's trying to get her to sleep with him, so he makes me look bad in comparison." He shook his head. "It's sad, really."

"I'm pretty sure she had that idea in her head long before she met Steve," Karen said, finding it painful to move her mouth. "She's never loved you."

This time, Paul punched her in the stomach. She doubled over, crying.

"She's always loved me. ALWAYS! It's just that so many people have gotten in the way of us being together! Her idiot friends in high school, that dumbass Craig. Those people were too stupid to do anything though. But lately...first her father tries to send her away! He actually thought he could keep us apart by shipping her off to Berkeley!" He laughed. "Guess that didn't work."

Karen tried to kick him, but he backed away, walked around her, and pushed the chair over, causing her to hit the left side of her head on the floor. She let out a wail.

"Then all these other people...GOD! I was starting to run out of ways to make it look like an accident! They just...kept...coming!" He started pacing around the apartment while Karen lay in agony.

"Why can't you just find another woman to obsess over? Why can't you just accept that Amy doesn't want you?" Karen moaned.

Paul walked over to Karen and kicked her in the ribs. She started choking and coughing. Soon enough she was coughing up blood.

"Because that is a lie. She does want me! She always has! Why else would she have been so nice to me all these years? But because of all the people like you who kept convincing her that she didn't need me, I've had to take extreme measures to keep her in my life! After today though...that'll all be history. She and I...we'll finally be together for good." He got down on his hands and knees and looked at Karen.

"No more meddling cousins. No more arrogant fathers. And certainly no more pretty boy detectives. Just me and her...and Mrs. J. She's the only one in the world who gets it."

"She's lost her mind," Karen said slowly.

"Not exactly. She knows what's best for her daughter, and she knows it isn't Inspector Keller! She even came to me last night, imploring me to talk some sense into Amy!"

"She did...what?" Karen said, coughing again. She was in such pain that she swore she heard him wrong. "She told you...to…"

"Get rid of Steve? Yes! She wants us to be together just as much as I do! Problem is, she didn't know where he lives." He stood up. "But you do!" he said in a sing-songy voice.

"And you think I'm going to tell you? She's not there anyway."

Paul walked back and untied her, causing her to fall out of the chair and flat onto the floor with a thud. She cried in pain, especially after he proceeded to stomp on her back.

"You need to stop lying. Mrs. J saw her there yesterday."

"He...took her...out of town…" Karen said.

Paul walked into the kitchen while Karen tried turning onto her left side. Her pain subsided slightly on her side and she didn't feel as if she was being choked by blood. When he came out of the kitchen, he had two things in his hand: a rolling pin and a small, serrated knife. He began hitting her in the legs with the rolling pin until her screams got on his nerves.

"You lie to me again, you get the knife instead," he told her, letting the rolling pin drop to the floor.

Now her entire body was in agonizing pain and she was starting to lose consciousness.

"You'll...never...find...her," she said, one word at a time.

Paul sat down on the floor next to her and put the knife up to her throat. He put slight pressure on the blade - enough to draw blood, which Karen could feel running down her neck and chest.

"I'm going to give you one last chance to tell me where Steve Keller lives. If you don't, you'll never see your parents, or your little brother, or Amy...ever...again. You tell me...and you live. Seems like a fair trade-off. You know I'm not going to hurt her! I love her! I can't spend the rest of my life with a corpse!"

Karen said nothing.

Paul started a countdown, pushing the knife into her throat harder with each number. When he got to one, she croaked out Steve's address.

He took the knife off her throat. "See, that wasn't so hard! I'm going to tell Amy all about how much you dislike her and easily gave me the address. She'll be so disappointed. But you won't be alive long enough to know anyway," he said before plunging the knife into her lower abdomen. Leaving it in, he stood up, walked to the kitchen, and casually washed his hands. He then walked past a dying Karen and into Amy's bedroom, where he grabbed a few dresses before walking out of the apartment for good.

Karen was only half conscious, but it was enough for her to realize she needed to get to a phone. Holding onto her bleeding throat with her broken arm, she used her left leg, which hadn't suffered much in the rolling pin attack, and her left arm to push and drag herself out of the dining room and into the living room, leaving a blood trail. The phone sat on an end table. She tried reaching it without sitting up, but it was pushed far enough back on the table that she couldn't. Gathering up as much energy as she could, she sat up enough to grab the receiver and dial zero. She then fell back down. The pain at this point was all over and completely unbearable. Her consciousness kept going in and out.

When the operator answered, she quietly told her that she needed the police. The operator quickly connected her to an operator at the police department, who immediately asked for her emergency.

Karen could barely get the words out, only managing her address and the word attacked before losing consciousness and letting the still-connected phone slip from her hand onto the floor.

* * *

Mike and Steve were coming out of a warehouse building near Pier 19. It was the third warehouse they had checked so far that morning, and the third time they'd come up empty. After talking to anyone and everyone in and out of the buildings, they'd determined that no one had seen Paul - either in several months or at all. There was also no evidence that he had been there lately. Steve was already getting frustrated.

"At this rate, he could be halfway to Florida," he muttered as the two walked back to the car.

"Don't get so discouraged!" Mike scolded him. "He can't hide in this city forever! He's not as smart as he thinks, and he'll slip up soon...or maybe he already has. Either way, we'll figure it out."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. "You're right," he said as he got behind the wheel.

Mike got in and got on the radio, calling Tanner and Murphy for an update. They had also been to three warehouses and came up with the same results. Mike told them to keep at it, hearing as much discouragement from Bill Tanner as he did from Steve.

Mike crossed the latest address, and the three from Tanner and Murphy, off his list.

"Where to next?" Steve asked as he started the car.

Mike was about to say something when the dispatcher came over the radio, alerting any unit in the vicinity of Hyde and Lombard to respond to a 242 at 2220 Hyde Street, apartment 306.

Steve suddenly lost all the color in his face. "That's Amy's apartment!" he said frantically, turning to Mike.

"A 242...beating?" Mike said, already grabbing the emergency light for the top of the car. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Mike asked Steve. who immediately threw the car into drive and took off toward the apartment.


	38. Chapter 38

_**I'm not a doctor, so the medical scene here was written after researching on the Internet. I don't guarantee it is 100% accurate.**_

Amy found herself pacing the living room. It was only half past nine and she was already working on her last nerve. Much longer and she figured she'd be a complete frazzled mess. Her feet were starting to ache from all the walking, but she barely noticed over her anxiety-fueled stomachache. Needing a distraction, she went to the kitchen and turned on the radio. She sat at the table, folded her arms on top, and laid her head down. Closing her eyes, she let the music take her away from everything in real life. Each song took her to a different location and a different feeling - happiness, sadness...love.

The station began playing "I Only Want to be With You," the song she and Steve had decided was "theirs." She sighed, thinking about their first date. At first, the thought made her feel good and livened her spirits, but then her pessimistic side took over. She started wondering if their first date would also end up being their last. Tears began to flow...again.

"Oh, get out of my head, bad thoughts!" she yelled at herself. She jumped up and turned off the radio. That distraction had ceased being effective.

As she walked into the bedroom to lie down, the phone rang. She ran over to it and picked it up with too much enthusiasm. "You got him?" she asked.

"Oh, you were expecting it to be him, weren't you? I'm sorry, Dear," the woman on the other end said.

Amy laughed nervously. "No, don't apologize, Aunt Kaye! I'm just a little jumpy this morning." She wiped some tears off her face as she sat on the bed.

"Karen told me about everything that has been going on lately. I am so sorry that we showed up yesterday, unannounced and everything, and then...I honestly don't know what has gotten into your mother!"

"Now don't you apologize for her either!" Amy scolded. "She's a big girl; she can make her own stupid decisions."

"I know...but she's my sister, and I'm the one who brought her here…"

"It's still not your fault. Mom has been losing it ever since Dad died...apparently she isn't getting better."

Kaye paused. "Yeah, um...his death _was_ a big trigger." She cleared her throat.

Amy found that statement odd, but Kaye moved on.

"Have you seen or heard from your cousin? She was supposed to meet me here at the hotel for breakfast at nine."

"No, I haven't. I'd say she's just running late, but almost an hour? That is ridiculous even for her."

"I tried calling, but I kept getting a busy signal."

"A busy signal? Oh, I bet I know what she did. Occasionally she'll take the phone off the hook when she wants to sleep. I never understood it, but you know Karen. She doesn't worry about what she might be missing."

Kaye laughed. "My daughter is a unique one alright. Well, maybe I just won't worry about it then. There's no use in calling if I'll never get through."

"Do you want me to go over there?" Amy asked.

"Oh, no. Don't worry about it. Besides, wouldn't your boyfriend not want you to leave?"

"It'll only take me five minutes. I'll just kick her out of bed and come right back here."

"I don't know…"

"Really. I'll be fine. What's your number? I'll call you when I get her."

As Amy was searching for a piece of paper and a pen to write down her aunt's phone number, the front door was opening slowly and quietly.

"...4869, Room 428. Got it. Don't worry, Aunt Kaye; I'm sure she's just asleep," Amy said before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. As she did, she paused, thinking she heard something. Hearing nothing but silence, she shook her head.

"Great, now my mind is playing tricks on me. Maybe I do need to get out of this house," she muttered. She walked into the living room and grabbed her purse and keys, soon realizing she didn't even have a car. She threw her purse down in disgust.

Paul, who had hidden himself in the coat closet, was busy filling a syringe as Amy stood and thought about how she was going to get to her apartment without a car.

"I could call a cab," she thought out loud. "That way I wouldn't be alone."

Before picking up the phone in the living room, she glanced out the window. "Where did that car come from?" she wondered, curious about the powder blue Mercury that sat in front of Steve's building.

Just then, the man came from behind and put his left hand over her mouth and the syringe up to her neck.

"I can give you a ride to any place you want to go, Baby," Paul said into Amy's ear.

She started to scream and squirm, so Paul moved his left arm to her neck and started cutting off her air. Soon, she stopped screaming and squirming. Her body laid limp in his arms. He dragged her over to the couch and threw her down. Now that her arms weren't flailing, he stuck the syringe in a vein in her right arm. He absentmindedly set the syringe on the coffee table before getting another syringe out of his pocket. This time, he took a vial of blood out of her left arm. He took the syringe and the vial into the bathroom, coming out empty-handed minutes later. He then picked up Amy and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her toward the front door. As he was walking out the door, the vial of serum fell out of his pocket and landed on Steve's living room floor.

* * *

Steve, in his typical racecar driving style, slid the car into the curb in front of Amy's building. Both he and Mike jumped out before the car was barely in park. No other police cars had arrived yet. After running up three flights of stairs in the time it would normally take to climb one, the men arrived at apartment 306 to find the door locked.

"The bastard locked the door!" Steve grumbled before kicking the door down.

He and Mike rushed in. They immediately saw Karen lying on the floor, unresponsive. She was in the same position she'd been in when she passed out on the phone. Mike heard the emergency dispatcher on the other end trying to get Karen's attention, so he picked up the receiver and informed her there were inspectors on the scene. He also inquired about the ETA on an ambulance.

While Mike was trying to speed up emergency services, Steve checked for a pulse. He initially had trouble finding one.

"Come on, Karen, don't give up on me…"

He finally found a very faint pulse in her neck.

Mike hung up the phone and ran into the kitchen for towels. As he came back, he saw Steve, with one hand on the laceration on Karen's neck and another on her abdomen, in a state of panic. Mike found this unusual for the normally level-headed man.

"God, Mike, what do we do first?!"

"Keep your head together!" He handed Steve several towels. "Curb the bleeding from the stab wound, but leave that knife in! Taking it out might make her lose more blood, and I don't think she can afford that," he said, noticing she also had blood coming from her mouth.

Mike put a towel on her neck and then propped her head back in an effort to make her airway as large as possible. Leaning in, he could tell her breathing was extremely labored and gurgly. "She's got blood in her lungs," Mike announced. "But she is still trying."

Steve, who had as much pressure as he could on her abdomen, said, "She's a fighter. She's not about to let Paul win, are you, Karen?" Then he commented on how the bleeding didn't seem to be stopping. "Why'd he have to stab her here?! I think he hit an artery!"

Steve, sitting on his knees, got close to Karen's face while keeping as much pressure as he could on the wound.

"Hey, I know you're in there and you can hear me. You're not going to let Paul get the better of you, are you? No way - not you. He'll never beat you. You're going to fight this!"

He looked up and saw the turned-over chair and the blood trail that led from the dining room.

"She dragged herself all the way from over there to the phone," he told Mike.

Mike looked up. "What the hell did he do to her?"

"He's looking for Amy," Steve said, suddenly getting very quiet. "She probably wouldn't tell him anything." He leaned back down to Karen.

"Come on! Don't you dare die on me! You fought that bastard with everything you had, didn't you? You have to keep fighting!" He put his ear to her mouth. "Damn it!" he shouted, hearing barely any breathing. "She's choking!"

They then heard the welcoming wail of an ambulance siren.

"Took them long enough," Mike grumbled.

"Come on, hang in there! I refuse to tell your cousin that you died! She'll never forgive me. You have to live so that you can rub it in Paul's face! I know you'll enjoy doing that!" Steve told her.

Mike got up and ran out the door, hoping to hurry the ambulance attendants.

"This isn't a very good week for us, is it? First I have to stop Amy from bleeding to death and now you. You guys are trying to kill me, aren't you?" Steve chuckled, trying to alleviate some of his own tension.

Karen coughed slightly.

"There you go! Keep fighting, please!" he begged.

Mike and the attendants ran in and over to Karen. Steve refused to let go of the pressure he had on the wound while the attendants hooked her up to oxygen. Once they had her on a gurney, two uniformed officers came in. Mike filled them in on the details and gave them further instructions about securing the scene.

Steve finally relinquished care of Karen to the attendants, but he refused to leave her side all the way down to the ambulance. On the elevator, she opened one eye and looked up at him.

"Hey! I knew you were in there. Stay with me, okay?" he told her.

She started hitting him in the arm like she was trying to get his attention.

"Hey, stay still. You'll be at the hospital soon."

She kept grabbing his arm and motioning for him to take the oxygen mask off her face, so right before she was loaded into the back of the ambulance, he told the attendants to wait a second and took the mask off her face.

"He...made me...tell…" She coughed.

"Take it easy. Paul?"

She nodded.

"Made you tell what?"

"Your...address…"

Steve's heart sunk. "He made you tell him where I lived?"

"Sorry…" She coughed again, so Steve put the mask back over her mouth. Her eyes looked heartbroken and scared at the same time.

"You listen to me. This is not your fault, okay? Everything will be fine. You keep fighting!" Steve said before the attendants pushed the gurney into the ambulance.

"We're taking her to St. Francis," one attendant told Steve. "It's the closest." He then closed the doors, and the ambulance took off toward the hospital.

Two other inspectors ran in as Mike ran out of the building. He stopped to inform them of what was going on.

"Where did they take her?" Mike shouted at Steve.

He was too busy staring off down the street, having trouble dealing with the narrowing fine line between his duty as a cop and his duty as a boyfriend.

"Steve!"

He snapped out of his trance. "Hmm?"

"Where did they take her?"

"St. Francis," he said in a barely audible voice.

Mike sent one man off to the hospital and the other up to the apartment. He then walked over to his partner. Steve looked at him with worry on his face.

"He tortured her until she told him where I live."

"Then we better get over there!" Mike said, and both men ran to the car. Mike shouted for two uniforms who had just arrived to follow. If Paul was there, he wanted as much firepower on his side as he could get.

* * *

Arriving at the apartment in record time, Steve immediately jumped out of the car without a care for his own safety. Mike exited the car and quickly stopped him.

"You're not stepping foot in there until they check it out first," Mike said, motioning for the uniformed officers to check the apartment. Steve protested, but Mike just gave him a stern look. Steve reluctantly backed off.

In his impatience, he angrily paced around the car, kicking stray rocks in the road and occasionally a tire on the car.

"What the hell is taking them so long?" he asked after a few seconds.

Mike didn't answer, but he fully understood his partner's impatience. This time, he found it easier to let Steve stew on his own for a while. He was beyond listening to any wise words.

After a couple minutes, one of the men, Officer Cook, yelled down to Mike that the scene was clear, so the lieutenant started heading up the stairs.

"Clear? What does he mean, clear?" Steve panicked and impatiently followed his partner up the stairs.

The second he stepped foot in his living room, he looked at Cook. "Where is she?!"

The man just shook his head. "There's no one here, Inspector."

"Check all the windows and doors for forced entry," Mike told Cook. "He had to have come in somehow...and left somehow."

"Amy! Amy! It's okay, Honey, you can come out now!" Steve shouted, checking closets and under furniture.

Mike shook his head, sad at how he felt his partner would handle the worst case scenario, if it came to that. He was beginning to think more like it would.

The other officer, Franklin, came in. "Lieutenant, you might want to see this," he said, but then regretted it when he saw Steve. "Actually, it's not that important right now," he quickly muttered.

Mike was about to scold him, but realized it might be something Steve would rue seeing. "Why don't you show me in a minute," he told the patrolman.

"Why? Why not now?" Steve asked, his voice more panicky than ever before.

"Steve…" Mike said, putting his hand on his partner's shoulder to stop his movement.

"No, Mike! We need to see whatever it is he's found!" Steve turned to Franklin. "Where is it?"

"The...the bathroom," Franklin said reluctantly.

Steve ran off to see what was in his bathroom.

"I didn't realize he was in here…" the officer said to Mike, completely regretful of what he had just done.

"Son of a bitch!" the two men heard from the bathroom.

Both ran in and found an enraged Steve staring at the bathroom mirror. Written in what appeared to be blood were the words SHE'S MINE. Steve then pushed both men out of the way and stormed into his living room. He started pacing, his anger building, until it reached a pressure point and he blew.

As Mike walked in, he saw Steve pick up a lamp and smash it against the wall. He then started picking up any random object and throwing it.

"Steve!" Mike yelled, but Steve didn't pay a bit of attention.

"Steven Keller!" This time Steve stopped his disastrous tantrum. When father said his whole name in that tone of voice, he knew he was in trouble.

He paused, then spoke with a voice full of ire and fear. "How did he find her, Mike? How the hell did this happen?!" He kicked over his coffee table.

"You need to calm down! None of us are happy about this, but throwing a tantrum won't solve anything!" Mike sternly told his partner before reaching down on the floor and looking at the syringe that Paul had left.

"Go get me a towel," Mike told Steve.

"What?!" Steve barked.

"Get me a towel," Mike said again as calmly as he could.

Steve rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen muttering, "Amy's missing and you're worried about my damn coffee table." He came back into the living room and threw the towel at Mike.

Mike caught it in mid-air, choosing to ignore the fact that it had been angrily tossed at him. He used it to grab the syringe.

"Is Amy diabetic, or does she take any medicine she injects herself with?"

"What?!" Steve asked, annoyed. "No!" He paused, then added much more quietly, "I don't think so." He put his face in his hands, irritated that he honestly had no idea. He understood more why Mike had told him the night before that he and Amy needed to actually talk.

Behind Mike, Cook was about to walk out the door when he saw something laying on the floor.

"Lieutenant, there is something over here that looks like a vial of...something."

Mike walked over to where the officer was standing and used another part of the towel to pick up the vial. He held up both it and the syringe.

"Ketamine," he said. "Isn't that a…"

"It's an anesthetic," Steve said, joining the men at the door. "You use it to knock people out."

"Can't put up much of a fight that way," Mike said. "You have an evidence bag in your car?" he then asked Cook.

The man nodded, took the evidence, and left the apartment.

"Sir, I don't see any sign of forced entry," Franklin said, coming into the living room. "Is it possible that she let the man in?"

Steve lost it. "Let him in?!" he yelled at the unsuspecting officer. "Do you not realize that this man has been stalking her and killing people in an attempt to win her love?! Do you not realize that she's lived in fear of him?! Then you have the nerve to ask if she let him in?!"

Fearing Steve was about to do something regrettable, Mike grabbed the man, who had gotten within punching distance of Franklin, and pulled him back. He motioned for Franklin to leave the apartment.

"That is enough!" Mike yelled at Steve. He hated what he was about to say, but seeing the intense pain written all over Steve's face, he knew that his partner would not keep it together enough to do his job.

"You are off this case," he said.

Steve was stunned. "What do you mean, I'm off this case?! Mike, I…"

"You are far too involved to be objective anymore!"

"But Mike…"

"I want you to go back to the station and stay there, you hear me?"

"I am not staying…"

"You don't have any other choice. You go back to the station and cool your heels...or you're suspended."

Mike was surprised he'd even said that, but it was the only way he could think of to keep Steve safe. Neither man said anything for what seemed like an eternity. Steve then quietly walked out of his front door. Mike followed.

At the bottom on the stairs, Mike told Cook to drive Steve back to the station. Steve got in the black and white without saying a word. Mike reached in the open window and gently placed a hand on his partner's shoulder.

Steve, now too numb to feel anything, simply looked up at his mentor. After being partners for almost four years, looks alone spoke volumes.


	39. Chapter 39

Before Officer Cook had gotten even two blocks from Steve's, Mike got on the radio and put out a broadcast for a possible 207. He described the victim and the perpetrator, also stating that the man was possibly armed and dangerous and to approach with caution. Steve could barely stand to listen.

During the rest of the ride back to Bryant Street, Steve tuned out the radio. Instead, he did a lot of thinking, mostly about how right Mike was in kicking him off the case. He'd been so wrapped up in wanting to be the one who discovered the truth behind all the mysterious deaths - to be the hero in Amy's eyes - that he'd stopped being objective and unattached enough.

He looked down at his hands. They were still covered in Karen's blood, as was his shirt, tie, and jacket. Suddenly, he wondered if all this blood was not only literally on his hands, but figuratively as well. The rest of the car ride became a game of "What If", played only in Steve's brain. _What if I had just let Amy leave the cemetery and tried to find her later? What if I had focused solely on the job and not even seen her? What if I'd have taken things slower with her? What if...what if...what if… What if I got these two women killed?_ Steve suddenly felt like throwing up.

"Inspector?" Cook said.

Steve was lost inside his head so far that he didn't hear the officer.

"Inspector?" Cook said again, shaking Steve's shoulder.

He came back to reality. "Hmm?"

"We're here."

Steve looked up at the tall building. "Yeah. Thanks. And tell Mike I will stay put." He opened the door and stepped out of the car.

Cook nodded. "Can I bring you back a change of clothes?" he asked, pointing to the mess Steve was wearing.

He looked down at himself. "No, I'll be fine. I'm not going anywhere anyway."

Cook drove off, leaving Steve in the parking lot. He took a deep breath of the still cool mid-morning air. It only slightly eased his anxiety and nausea.

Once in the building, he found the first men's room he could find. He didn't want to go all the way to the fourth floor covered in blood; it would yield too many questions that he didn't feel he could handle answering.

He noticed there was a "Closed For Cleaning" sign propped against the wall inside the restroom, so he placed the sign outside the door. He needed to be alone for a while and hoped that would send men elsewhere. At the sink, he washed the blood off his hands and thought maybe he could get some out of his clothes, but that was futile. Instead, he took off the jacket and tie and threw them in the trash.

After doing so, he smiled, remembering breakfast two days prior when Amy had suddenly remembered she'd ruined his overcoat. He remembered how worried she looked, thinking she owed him a new coat. What would she think now, that she'd have to buy him a whole new outfit? _At this point_, he thought, _I'd let her buy anything she wanted_.

He leaned against the wall opposite the sinks and stayed in that memory, finding it comforting. After telling her to worry about something else besides his coat, she'd inquired as to whether or not he was single. She'd played off the question like it was just one of her crazy worries, but Steve saw something else in her eyes. He saw the same feelings that he felt when he looked at her. Before, he wondered if he was overstepping his bounds, or trying to make something out of nothing, but at that moment, those thoughts disappeared.

It had felt like years lived in just a week. He and Amy had gone from being strangers, to acquaintances, to friends, to something more than friends, to parents, to something way more than friends, to… It may have been a story that was written too quickly, but Steve wasn't ready to let it end. There were still thousands of unwritten chapters left to live.

Before meeting her, he wouldn't have found it possible to fall in love with someone in such a short amount of time. Fall in lust? Sure. Infatuation? Happened all the time. But love? Honest to goodness love? Steve had never considered himself the settle down and get married type - the type that gave himself completely to another person. Life had too much to see and experience to ground himself in one place, doing the daily grind of all work and no play. There were oceans to swim, mountains to ski, roads to drive...and all he could see now was doing those things with Amy. The more he thought, the less fun living seemed without her. He'd taken other girls out of town for weekend getaways and such, but he also enjoyed exploring life on his own. Now, he didn't really want to fly solo. If not wanting to share life's adventures without someone was true love, then he was in it deep.

Over dinner during their first official date, after deciding to ban all case talk, one thing they did discuss was travel. She'd found out he was quite the adventurer; he'd learned that she wasn't quite as daring, but that she loved to drive off alone and see new things. Often on the weekends while she was an undergrad, she'd get in her car and explore the less-traveled parts of southern California, finding the time away from the hectic city energizing. He said he felt the same way skiing down a mountain. She suggested they just pack up and get lost some weekend - one time doing what he wanted, another time her plans. Steve smiled again, remembering the look of surprise on her face that she'd even suggested that. He'd immediately started planning something romantic in his mind for when the case was over. Not something adventurous and exciting - something romantic and relaxing. He'd never done that so quickly.

Steve's thoughts went to a guy he knew in college - Warren. The two men were quite similar in their lifestyles; both were handsome bachelors with thoughts of success, changing the world...and girls. Neither one was the kind to stay too long with one woman - no one could ever keep up. A female friend had once teased the both that they were confirmed bachelors who would die single. _If either one of you ever does settle down_, she said, _I will die of shock_. Then Warren met Annabelle. The two were inseparable. Warren's demeanor always turned joyous whenever he spoke of her. They didn't share every interest, but both would support the other regardless. She'd managed to change him from a devil-may-care playboy into a responsible, one-woman man. The two married before they graduated, and as far as Steve knew, three kids, steady jobs, and a mortgage later, they were still in matrimonial bliss.

Even though Steve had been satisfied with the life he'd made for himself, part of him envied Warren. He always had someone to lean on, confide in, come home to. He had someone he never had to put on airs with - he could be himself and fear no judgment because she loved him, flaws and all. Steve never felt he could do that with any woman he'd ever known...until now.

Steve loved Amy, even with all her faults. She was too anxious, emotional, eager to please, fearful, hard on herself, and jealous….and he couldn't have cared less. He loved all of these pieces of her, even if they did annoy him. Now the possibility that he'd never get to show her just how much he loved her hung over his head. What he'd already done was not nearly enough. He'd never get to tell her just how much happiness she'd brought into his life in the week they'd known each other. When she smiled, it made him smile. When she hurt, he hurt along with her. She made him laugh. She made him feel needed. She made him feel loved. He'd gotten so close to the bliss Warren and Annabelle had...and it was being ripped away from him as quickly as it came.

The most frustrating thing wasn't even the unknown. The worst part was that he couldn't do a damn thing but sit and worry. As he slid down the wall and sat on the floor, he kept thinking that if anything happened to Amy, it was all his fault. His infatuation got her into the mess in the first place, and now it was preventing him from undoing the damage. He started thinking much like Amy would - everything was his fault, even though the actual blame was on Paul. He disregarded the fact that Paul had been after her for years before Steve had even met her, and that this was possibly an inevitable end to Paul's grand scheme. If Steve hadn't pursued Amy, Paul wouldn't have been angry enough to actually kidnap her. He'd never done it before, so Steve must be the only reason he was doing it now.

The worry and stress got to be too much. Sitting alone on the floor of a police station men's room, Steve did something he was glad no one was around to see - he cried.

* * *

After feeling that he no longer looked like he'd just spent half an hour in the men's room crying like a baby, Steve took the elevator up to homicide. An inspector from robbery did inquire about the blood on his shirt, but Steve managed to say that he'd saved a victim's life, a story the man found impressive. Steve was glad his colleague didn't inquire further.

As he entered the homicide office, Lee Lessing was walking out.

"Where are you off to?" Steve asked, trying to deflect any questions before they came. He was sure the entire department knew what had happened.

"Mike's got us all going out looking for your suspect. He's pretty mad. He'd have the entire force out there if he could."

Steve had to smile at his partner's determination. When a case made Mike mad, he turned into a pit bull, not letting go until the matter was resolved. He'd never been more glad to have the man on his side.

"How are you holding up?" Lee asked.

Steve just sort of shrugged. He didn't feel like trying to convince Lee otherwise.

"Hang in there," Lee said, patting Steve on the shoulder. "We'll find her."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," Steve replied as if the man were doing him a personal favor.

Lee walked out, and Steve walked to his desk. He stood and looked at it for a while, not sure of what to do. He couldn't just sit and wait for news; he had to keep busy doing something or he'd go crazy. He felt like without enough distractions, he'd go to those dark places Amy always went, so he began straightening up the desk, even though it wasn't a bit messy.

Norm Haseejian came into the squad room and saw Steve absent-mindedly moving pencils from one side of his desk to the other.

"Hey, Keller. How are you doing?"

Steve looked back and saw Norm standing there. "Oh, fine. Just fine."

Norm simply nodded, knowing Steve was lying.

"What are you doing here? I thought Mike sent everyone out looking," Steve asked.

"Someone has to man the fort."

"That's true," Steve said, nodding. "I'm surprised he didn't have me do that."

Norm shrugged. He had a feeling Mike was reluctant to push Steve too much at the moment.

"So what are you doing?" Steve asked.

"I got stuck with everyone else's leg work - looking up DMV records, making phone calls…"

"Need help?" Steve asked a bit eagerly.

Norm gave him a curious look.

"I can't sit here all day twiddling my thumbs. Even when I used to get grounded, I still had books to read or something."

"Yeah, I couldn't just sit either. Tell you what. I've got about a hundred partial license plates to run."

"A hundred?"

"Maybe I exaggerated a little, but it's a lot."

Steve smiled. "I'll run them. It'll get me out of here anyway."

Norm handed him a folder. "Take your time." He then began walking toward his own desk. "Hey, everything will be fine, you know?" he said, turning back.

Steve, heading toward the door, turned to look at Norm. "Hmm?"

"Your girl...she'll be fine. She's got Mike out looking for her. Couldn't ask for a better guy to be on your side. The guy...he might not be so lucky."

"Yeah, you're right...if she's still…" He couldn't spit out the word alive. Maybe if he didn't suggest she was dead out loud, it wouldn't happen.

"Now don't think like that!" Norm scolded. "This psycho is in love with her, right?"

Steve nodded. "If you could call it that."

"Then he's probably not going to finally get her and then kill her, is he?"

"That's not a bad point," he told Norm. "But he…"

"He may not give her up too easily, but I doubt he hurts her much. Take it from experience."

"Experience?"

"I've seen a couple nuts like him in my day. About the only person who wasn't harmed was the girl."

"I seriously hope you're right, Norm."

"I hope I am too," he said as his phone rang.

Steve turned back to the door to leave the squad room, but as he walked, something on Tanner's desk caught his eye. It was the list of properties they were checking on earlier. Steve grabbed it and headed out the door.

* * *

Paul came up the stairs that led from the garage, which had been converted to a basement of sorts. Walking into the living room to check on his prisoner, he saw her lying on the couch, frantically looking around the ceiling.

"Steve, your ceiling is melting!" she shouted.

Paul stood over her. "What?" he asked, annoyed that Steve's name was her first utterance.

"And why is it pink? No...blue. And yellow?" She suddenly laughed. "It looks like a Lava Lamp."

Paul looked up at the white, cottage cheese ceiling. Some of the curds were missing or falling off, but it certainly was not melting. He looked back down at Amy, who seemed off in some far away land. He took his thumb and index finger and opened her eyelid farther. Her pupils were dilated.

"You would be one of the people who trip on that stuff, wouldn't you?" he muttered. "Can't you do anything right?"

"Steve, could you make the room stop melting?" she asked as she sat up and got off the couch.

"How can I do that?"

She scrunched up her nose. "This place smells."

"Oh, Baby, you're just dreaming," he said, attempting to put his arms around her.

Amy narrowed her eyes and glared at Paul. "Don't call me Baby. And no I'm not." She kept glaring at him. "You're not Steve!"

"Hell no; I'm better looking," Paul answered arrogantly.

She then closed her eyes and shook her head. "Why is it so loud in here?!" She put her hands over her ears. "Make it stop!" she screamed.

Paul tried to touch her again.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed even louder. She opened her eyes and looked at Paul. "Who are you and what did you do with Steve?!"

"Who is Steve? Baby..."

At the sound of the word "baby", Amy hauled off and punched Paul in the face. "I said don't call me that!"

Paul was blindsided by the power of the punch. It took him a few seconds to shake it off.

At the same time, Amy suddenly found that the entire room was on fire. She started panicking. Backing out of the room, she ran into the staircase that went to the second floor. She took off up the stairs.

"Son of a bitch…" Paul muttered and slowly followed her upstairs. Figuring she couldn't get too far considering the upstairs was more of an attic than an entire floor, he took his time, finding his injured foot was in quite a bit of pain after all the activity of the morning.

When he got upstairs, he found Amy opening a window that overlooked the sidewalk in front of the house.

"Amy, what are you doing?"

She whipped her head around and looked at him, still panic-stricken. "Are you with the fire department?"

He thought for a bit. If she wanted a hero, a fireman was far better than a cop. "Yes, yes I am. I'm here to rescue you."

She turned back to the window and threw open the screen. She then attempted to climb out.

"Hey!" Paul shouted, running over to her. "I'm here to rescue you from the fire! You don't need to leave through the window."

Straddling the windowsill, she looked down at the empty sidewalk. "Where's Steve?" she cried.

"Now why would you need a cop when the fire department is here? We're the heroes! Those idiots just hand out speeding tickets when the city needs money."

Amy closed her eyes and reopened them, thinking her view would change. All she saw was an empty sidewalk, no cars on the street save for Paul's Mercury, and a dumpy auto repair business across the street. There were no firetrucks or other firemen in sight.

"I don't want a hero; I want Steve!" she yelled at Paul. She then swung the leg that was still in the house outside.

Realizing she was seconds away from leaping out the window and splattering all over the sidewalk, Paul said, "If you let me get you out of here, I'll find Steve. I bet he's not far from here. He's never far away from you, is he?"

"You promise?" she asked, looking down at the hard cement below.

"He wouldn't want you leaving the house that way, would he? He'd want you to be safe. He'd want me to take you downstairs." The words made Paul want to retch.

"He'd be sad if I died in this fire though," she said sadly.

"He'd be sadder if you died falling out of a window." The thought of making Steve "sad" pleased Paul, but he didn't hate Steve enough to sacrifice his one true love.

"I suppose you're right," Amy said, suddenly feeling very tired.

Paul noticed her starting to sway and lose grip on the window. He came closer, ready to catch her.

"Can I take you downstairs then?" he asked.

As Amy's eyes started to close, she fell forward, but Paul caught her and dragged her back into the house. He looked down at her lying on the floor and found her passed out cold.

He sighed. "This honeymoon is getting off to a swell start."


	40. Chapter 40

Her head was pounding, her limbs felt like they weighed a ton each, and she felt queasy. She opened her eyes and for a minute, thought she had also gone blind. The room she was in was so dark, she couldn't even see the chair she was sitting on. There was no light coming from under any doors and there were no windows. She finally realized she wasn't blind when she saw light coming from her left. A heavy, concrete door opened, scratching the concrete floor and making a loud noise.

"Amy?" Paul said, coming into the room.

The light he brought in with him was so bright that it made Amy squint until her eyes adequately adjusted. She tried to shield her eyes from the light, but upon trying to move her arm, she found that she was tied to her chair.

"Paul?" she asked, unsure if that was the identity of her visitor or not.

"Well, Beautiful, you're finally awake...and lucid," he said, walking into the room and over to the opposite side. He turned on a lamp.

Once the room was lit in the yellowish glow of an incandescent bulb, Amy saw what type of room she was in. It was a bedroom, albeit one that looked more like a dungeon. There were no windows and the walls, like the floor, were concrete. Nothing hung on them, giving the room a cold demeanor.

In front of the chair she was tied to was a king-sized bed. It was covered with a white lace bedspread and pink and red rose petals. Next to each side of the bed were nightstands that were covered in candles of various sizes. One nightstand also had a bucket on it that Amy assumed was for a bottle of champagne. The suggestion that the rose petals, candles, and bucket made caused Amy's anxiety to swing into gear.

"Where the hell am I?" she asked in a very unpleased tone.

Paul walked over to her and knelt down next to her chair. "Home, Darling."

She turned and gave him a dirty look. "Ha ha, very funny. Seriously, where the fuck am I?"

Paul reached up and attempted to caress her face. She moved her head as far away as she could.

"Why are you so angry?" he asked. "I just saved you."

"From what?!" she yelled. "I didn't need saved from anything!"

"You did. You were ruining your own life, which makes your mother and me very sad."

"And just how am I ruining my life exactly?" she hissed.

"Well, for starters, coming up here. Your life has been nothing but sadness ever since you came to San Francisco."

"Oh, and you had absolutely nothing to do with that," she said as sarcastically as she could.

"You got yourself mixed up with all the wrong people. Look where it got you."

"Under a pile of dead bodies? Is that where it got me?"

"I can't help it if you're a jinx. It must be the city."

Amy attempted to kick Paul anywhere she could. He quickly got to his feet and out of the way.

"Hey! Don't take your frustrations out on me! I'm just trying to help!"

"Killing my father is not help!" she screamed.

Paul pointed at himself like he had no idea she was talking about him. "Me? You think I killed your father? That's ridiculous! Did Steve tell you that? Baby, you have to stop believing every lie that jackass tells you."

Amy just glared at him.

"See what moving up here has done to you?" Paul said sadly. "It's made you bitter and mean and...you've turned to trusting pigs like Steve Keller."

Amy was about to retort but stopped short when she realized that Paul knew Steve's last name. She'd determined earlier that she never said it, and Karen hadn't either, so…

"Who told you his last name?" Amy asked suspiciously.

"He did, that night in your kitchen," Paul answered quickly.

"No, he did not."

"Must have been you then, when you introduced him as your 'lawyer' friend." Paul started to laugh. "Lawyer. That was a good one."

"I never said a word. Who...told...you?!"

"Geez! What does it matter? Mrs. J told me, okay? Who cares?"

Amy was both furious and heartbroken. She hadn't understood why Margaret hated Steve so much, but she had decided that it wasn't going to deter her from seeing him; her mother would just have to accept it, which she figured would happen in due time. Now though, knowing that her own mother had sold both of them out to the enemy? How could a mother do that to their child?

"She worries about you! She knows how bad of an idea it was for you to move up here, but she could never get you to listen! Truthfully, I think she was a little jealous of my mom and me. We're close. You sort of abandoned Mrs. J. All she wants is the best for you!"

He got closer to her and attempted to caress her cheek. This time, she didn't move. She felt frozen.

"She knows that Steve Keller will never make you happy like I will! Baby, I can give you the world! What can he give you?"

Amy stared straight ahead. "Security," she muttered.

"Security? Really? That's the most important thing to you? No offense, but that's lame. Sure, anyone with a gun can scare off would-be burglars!"

"That just proves how much you don't get love...or being human."

Paul stood up in front of her. "Love? You think you're in love with him?" He laughed heartily. "Love takes time, Babe. You're probably just in love with his flashy car. I can buy you one much newer. Hell, I can buy you ten."

"I don't want your fucking cars," she growled.

"You know what they say about guys who surround themselves with a ton of ostentatious shit? They're compensating for small…"

Amy attempted to kick him again. This time, she got him in the knee. He retaliated by slapping her across the face.

"Didn't your mother teach you how to treat your lovers?"

"Burn. In. Hell."

Paul sat on the end of the bed and shook his head. "He's got you so brainwashed. Can't you see he doesn't love you? Guys like him are incapable of loving anyone but themselves! They use a girl for a while, but then someone better comes along. Do you really want to put yourself in the position of being thrown away? You deserve someone so much better than that!"

"Someone like you?"

"Yes!"

Amy shook her head in disgust. "You don't know anything about Steve. He's not like that at all."

"Really? Is that why you're always so jealous and apprehensive? Because you have no worries that he's going to leave you?"

Amy's gaze shot to Paul's face. How could he possibly know about her insecurities? He couldn't have gotten all that from spying on them during one date. He couldn't have even gotten it from her mother.

"I'm right, aren't I? You worry constantly that he'll grow bored with you, or grow tired of your insecurity and leave you. But he makes you feel secure," he added sarcastically.

"No I don't," she uttered quickly.

"How'd you meet him?"

She said nothing.

"How'd you meet him, Amy? Wasn't it during a shooting? A shooting where you got hurt and he had to 'save' you?"

Amy looked up at the ceiling.

"I imagine that's a scene that could happen another time in his career. It probably happened before you as well. I wonder where that woman is now. Certainly not with him. Hero worship gets boring for the one being worshipped. They start to want to be worshipped by someone else, not the same person all the time. I bet he's not even looking for you right now. He doesn't care."

"You worthless asshole!" she snapped, even though his words were starting to break her down.

He stood up and slapped her across the face again. "Don't call me names, Darling. Especially when you know I'm right."

Amy adjusted her jaw. "Steve loves me," she said, working through the sting his slap left on her face.

"He loves the idea of you. He loves the idea of women. They're playthings, not things to be adored."

"You are full of shit." Instead of keeping her mouth shut, Amy decided she was going to snap at him every time he said something less than flattering about Steve. It distracted her from the negative thoughts she was beginning to think about him.

Her lippy attitude was met with another slap across the face. Now her lip was bleeding and both sides of her face stung.

"Pretty soon your face is going to hurt quite a bit. Then you'll see things my way."

"What exactly is your way?"

He got down on his knees in front of her like he was about to beg. "That I love you, adore you, worship you. You are the one and only woman I want in my life. I've never looked at anyone else, and I never will."

"Is that what you said to that girl at UCSF, the one who got you kicked out of school?"

"He's lying about me again!" Paul shouted, going from Jekyll to Hyde in a millisecond.

"You force her to love you by tying her to a chair in a creepy basement bedroom?"

"That is not what happened!"

"You slap her around until she said she loved you?"

"Shut up!"

"You rescue her from harm and then try to rape her?!"

Paul's anger grew enough that he punched Amy square in the face, twice. Then, as quickly as it came, the anger disappeared and he saw what he'd done. Amy's nose was bleeding and most of her face was red.

"Oh, Baby, I am so sorry!" He took her head in his hands and started kissing her face.

Amy cringed, both from pain and disgust.

"I didn't mean it! It's just...that girl was a freak. And then...he...tries to use that against me! He's always doing that! He makes me so damn mad! But I shouldn't take it out on you! I love you so much!" He paused before adding, "Besides, you punched me first." He pointed to the bruise starting to form around his left eye.

"I what? God I hate you!" Amy felt like losing the little breakfast she'd eaten.

"You know what? I'm going about this all wrong. Telling you what a creep Keller is isn't working. I need to show you that I am the man you love. Are you hungry?"

She shook her head no.

"Me too," he replied. "Remember when we were in high school and I used to make you those little wiener roll up things? With those little cocktail sausages? You used to love those!"

"I'm not 15 anymore," she said softly.

"I'll make those for us again, just like old times," he said, not listening to a thing she said. "And then tonight, I'll make a real romantic dinner. You like steak? Or how about fish?"

"I couldn't care less."

Paul stood up and went to a wardrobe that was in the corner. He pulled out one of the dresses that he'd taken from her apartment.

"Wear this. Change into it while I go get something for your nose." Paul untied Amy from the chair and then left the room.

Amy barely moved. Her entire head hurt and she could feel the warm blood from her nose running over her mouth. She sat up a little more and looked at what Paul had placed on the end of the bed. It was a dress of hers. _How the hell did he get clothes from my closet?_ she wondered. He hadn't made it into the apartment the night he broke her front door, so how did he get the dress? Then she began fearing the worst.

"God...I told her not to go back there! Oh GOD!" she wailed, assuming Paul had killed Karen. She slumped over in her chair and cried into her lap for a moment.

Paul reentered the room with an ice pack, a first aid kit, and some cotton balls. When she heard him come in the room, she picked up her head and glared at him.

"What did you do to her?" she growled.

Paul froze by the door. "Do to who?"

Amy stood up, her face a mess of tears and blood, and angrily strode over to him. "Karen. What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything to that bitch! Where did this come from?"

"You had to have gotten that from my closet," she sneered, "and you couldn't have gotten into my apartment any other way than either breaking in or doing something to Karen, now could you? I'm guessing you didn't break in because you already tried and all you managed to do was put a hole in the door. So…"

She walked up to him, got in his face, and screamed, "What did you do to her?!"

Paul shoved her away. He pushed hard enough that she fell backward onto the floor. She immediately bounced back to her feet.

"I did what I should have done to that mouthy bitch years ago - shut her up!"

Amy lunged at him and attempted to punch, slap, and scratch his face and any other part of his body that she could. Unfortunately for her, he overpowered her almost instantly. He managed to grab her arms and threw her furiously at the wall. Her head hit the wall with a loud thud, causing her to lose consciousness. She slid down the wall and landed in a blob on the floor.

"Now, if you will kindly let me give you first aid like I was trying to, we can get on with lunch," he said as if nothing had happened.

* * *

It took Steve two hours to finish running all the partial plates Norm had given him. Part of that was because he figured he had nothing else to waste his time on, and part was because his mind kept wandering off to thinking about Amy. He kept having to tell himself to focus on the license plates because worrying about her was only giving him a serious stomachache.

He kept looking at the list he'd taken from Tanner's desk. He crossed off all the places he knew were already checked, but that was only six. He wondered how many other places they'd searched...or if they'd found Paul already. He had no way of knowing, and it was driving him crazy.

Once he got done with the plate search, he headed to a vending machine for coffee. He hadn't eaten anything all day, but coffee was the only thing he felt he could stomach. Everything else sounded awful. After getting a cup, he looked at the list again. He just had to find out what was going on, so he took his coffee and headed to the communications office.

Once there, he talked with a couple dispatchers who filled him in on which places Mike and the other inspectors had been. It was just after one in the afternoon, so a majority of the list was crossed off and no one had yet found anything or anyone. The dispatchers told Steve they would keep him abreast of any other properties that could be crossed off the list in the coming hours. He left and headed back up to Homicide.

Norm was gone again, so Steve set the license plate list on his desk and went back to his own. He sat down and started looking at the property list again. _There has to be something in this we're not seeing_, he thought. He started to wonder what the locations would look like together on a map. Having nothing else to keep his mind occupied, and tired of trying to deter it from thinking about Amy, he stood up and went on a hunt for a rolling bulletin board and a large map of San Francisco. Upon finding his articles, he pinned the map to the board and began putting x's on every location on the list. He then drew circles around the x's to encompass areas he knew were being patrolled by black and whites. Once this was all completed, he stepped back and looked at the map. Not much of the map was left, but there were five distinct areas that were uncovered: portions of Sea Cliff, Noe Valley, Pacific Heights, Lower Haight, and Bayview.

As he was writing these down, Norm came back into the office. "What are you doing?" he asked Steve.

"They're striking out left and right with this list," Steve told him. "I keep thinking that he's hiding somewhere out of the areas they've checked."

"Like he's hiding out someplace that isn't his, like a friend's house?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't know, something like that. These five places," he said, pointing them out on the map, "are the only sections of town where his family owns nothing. I'd bet that he's holed up somewhere in those sections of town."

Norm stared at the map. "Those are pretty big sections to cover. You're going to have to narrow that down or you'll never find them."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. "I know. You're sure you got all the property owned by his father?"

Norm nodded. "Bill and I found every last parcel in this city owned by Calvin Carpenter or the five different companies he owns."

"And there was nothing under Paul's name?"

Norm shook his head. "There were properties owned by a Paul Carpenter, but further digging found that they were different Paul Carpenters."

"Hmm. The guy is sneaky. He probably bought property under some phony name, or a nickname...what about his mother? Did you check for anything owned by her?"

"No. Her name wasn't even on her and her husband's Thousand Oaks home."

Steve walked to his desk and grabbed a folder, which he began looking through. "Here it is. Vera. Maiden name Wallace."

Steve wrote the names down on his piece of paper and put the folder back on his desk. "I'm going to head to City Hall, see if I can find anything. I'm getting desperate."

"Getting?" Norm teased.

Steve shrugged it off.

"What do I say if Mike calls looking for you?"

"Tell him the truth. If I find them, he won't be mad that I snuck out. Not for long anyway."

As he left the office, he glanced at his watch. It was almost 2:30. Four and a half hours since they'd discovered Amy missing. The later it got in the day, the less the chances were of finding her alive. That's what all the statistics said.

Pushing the down button on the elevator, Steve rubbed his eyes, then looked up at the ceiling. _If anyone up there is listening, please help me keep this woman from being a statistic. I can't lose her. I just can't._ He hoped someone heard.


	41. Chapter 41

Amy awoke to her head pounding again. Whatever she was laying on was freezing cold. Reaching around to the back of her head, she felt that she was laying on a bag of ice. Her face was achy and on fire and her nose felt numb. Touching it, she became aware of why she couldn't breathe; cotton was stuffed up each nostril.

"You broke my damn nose!" she yelled, not really knowing if Paul was around or not. She wasn't even sure where she was, although she knew she wasn't in the bedroom anymore. This room at least had a window, though it was covered with heavy drapery.

"What did you say?" Paul asked, coming into the room from behind her.

"You broke my nose!" she yelled again.

Paul laughed.

"What the hell is so funny about that?"

"Nothing, Baby, nothing. You just sound kind of funny with the cotton in there."

Furious, Amy pulled the bloody cotton balls out of her nose and threw them at Paul, who swiftly moved out of the way.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he said. "Your nose might still be bleeding."

"Then take me to a fucking hospital!"

Paul walked over to the couch she was lying on. He lifted her up slightly, taking the ice pack out from under her head and replacing it with two pillows.

"No can do. I don't think it's broken anyway."

He placed the ice bag on her face and then leaned over and picked her up in his arms.

"Put me down!" she shrieked, throwing the bag across the room.

He walked her out of the living room and into the kitchen. He set her down in a chair at the table and sat on her lap.

"Get your fat ass off me!" she wailed, beating on his back.

He grabbed a rope that was laying on the table and tied her left wrist to the chair. "Can't have you trying to leave now."

"Perfect way to show someone you love them - holding them hostage and tying them to furniture. Sure beats candy and flowers," Amy snapped sarcastically.

"I tried flowers, but for some reason you refused them!" He sighed. "I wish I didn't have to do this, but I fear you'll try to leave," Paul said, standing up and walking over to the oven.

"Wherever did you get that idea?" she snarked.

"Soon though. Soon, you'll be able to roam the house freely. I'll even take the locks off the doors."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because you won't want to leave. I'll even let you leave the house, because I know you'll come back."

"With the SWAT team maybe."

Paul laughed again. "No, all by yourself. And you'll be happy...because you love me and want to come home to me." He opened the oven door and checked his meal. "Almost ready."

He then walked back to the table and sat down on a chair next to Amy. "You know when I first realized that you loved me?" he asked her.

"No, enlighten me," she muttered, already trying to get her wrist out of the restraint.

"You remember Dennis Stanton?"

"I have no idea who that is."

"Oh, you remember him. He was that guy who used to pick on me in seventh grade science."

Amy thought back to the little she remembered of the class. Dennis was an entitled brat who dealt with people as if they were his minions instead of his friends. Everyone else was a waste of air and treated as such. She didn't think much of him, but he left her alone because she was quiet and never got in his way.

"Oh, him. What about him?"

"Remember when we had to dissect those frogs, and we had to break into groups? Mr. Bartlett picked five people to pick teams. Dennis, Terry, Ruth, Joyce, and Anna were the five. Remember them?"

"How the hell do you remember all this? Or better yet, why?" she asked, annoyed. Terry was the class president, but much nicer than Dennis, Ruth and Joyce were cheerleaders, and Anna was one of Amy's best friends.

"After picking the initial three people for each group, I was left to be picked with Melvin, Eddie, Frank, and Arlene."

Amy didn't remember much about those four, but the one thing she did remember about that class was that Paul considered himself the most intelligent and no one else even came close.

"That must have pissed you off, considering whatever group you worked with would get an automatic A. Who wouldn't want that?"

Paul nodded. "But you...you convinced Anna to pick me over the other four. You knew. And then during the project, you made sure the others in the group let me take the lead."

"And that meant I loved you?" Amy asked, shocked at the ridiculousness of that thought. "I just knew you wouldn't mind touching that disgusting thing! Plus, you'd get us an A."

"No, it was more than that. You did that a lot for me - made sure I wasn't left out."

"I was just being nice. God only knows why." Amy grunted, still trying to get out of the rope.

"I tie good knots," he whispered.

That made her more mad, so she tugged and tugged and tugged until she tugged a little too hard and heard a snap. She screamed out in pain.

Paul winced. "That had to hurt. Paul to the rescue again," he said, hopping up and walking out of the kitchen.

Amy sat with her head on the table, crying out in pain.

Moments later, Paul came back in with a wooden ruler, a large roll of cloth bandage, and some tape. While Amy wailed, Paul broke the ruler in half over his knee, then untied her arm, taking the rope and using it to tie her other arm to the chair. He then immobilized her left wrist with the rulers, wrapping them both with the bandage and taping it all together. Putting the remaining supplies on the kitchen counter, he then opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of aspirin and a glass. He filled the glass with water and took it and the pills over to the table. Amy refused to take the aspirin, so Paul forced open her mouth and threw the pills and water down her throat. She coughed, having breathed in some of the water.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself? First you make me smack you, then punch you and make your nose bleed, then you hit the wall and get that goose egg on the back of your head, and now you've broken your wrist. I didn't realize you were masochistic. That's sad. You used to have more self-esteem than that."

Amy was in too much pain to fight back.

"But no worries, because I will fix all that! I'll make you feel good about yourself again. Obviously he is just making you feel worse."

She stomped her feet in disgust.

"You used to have a much better look on life in high school." Paul sat back down and gazed at Amy. "Remember choir? You were so talented! You lit up the whole stage. Everyone was envious of your radiance and talent. I could sit in that theater and watch you sing for hours."

Amy wanted to lose her voice at that very moment.

"Sing me something," he told her.

"I can't…" she moaned.

"Please?" he begged.

"What?" Amy was too tired to argue anymore.

"Remember that song we danced to at the first freshman dance?"

She shook her head. She barely remembered the dance, much less the song.

"That was such a glorious night. You were going to go with Kent Parks, and I was forced into going with the daughter of a guy my idiot father worked with. You knew how much I didn't want to go with that fat pig, so you dumped Kent and went with me. You wanted me to have a good time. Of course, you knew you'd have a better time with me than him anyway."

Amy's memory of the event came back...only her memory was vastly different. Kent's grandmother died right before the dance and he ended up needing to go to Oregon for her funeral. Amy was just going to stay home that night, but her mother and Paul's got together and decided she should go with Paul instead since she'd already spent money on a dress. Kicking and screaming, she went, though she made every effort to avoid him. She hid in the bathroom, pretended to owe other boys dances, and claimed her feet hurt too much to dance.

"You were shy at first," Paul continued, "but when they play a song like 'Can't Help Falling in Love,' you have to dance with the one you love." He smiled lovingly at Amy. She glared at him.

During the last hour of the dance, she'd run out of excuses and places to hide. Paul managed to drag her out to dance, although at the time, they were playing fast music, so she didn't have to actually dance with him. Then came the slow song - Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love." Paul kept singing the lyrics in her ear like they meant something to him. She prayed the song was short.

Paul untied Amy, took her good arm, and pulled her to her feet. "Sing me the song," he said, embracing her while starting to dance.

She wanted to pass out and die, but she soldiered through, hoping that appeasing him would get her out of there quicker. He couldn't watch her twenty-four hours a day, and she couldn't take any more abuse from snapping at him. Closing her eyes, she began singing the song. Physically, she was in some kitchen, dancing to no music with a man who made her sick. In her mind, she was back at that lounge she and Steve went to on their first date. Instead of Paul, she was dancing with Steve, singing love songs in his ear - and meaning every word.

When Amy was done, she tried pulling away from Paul, but he had other ideas. He pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her passionately. Amy couldn't imagine him being Steve this time. When he was done, she coughed as if she were trying to force herself to throw up. Paul didn't even notice as she wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

"And you say you don't love me! The emotion in your voice gives you away!"

She wanted nothing more than to tell him who she was really singing to, but again, she thought it best to play along with his delusions.

"The love behind those lyrics...the way you held me now and all those years ago...you and me are meant to be, Babe! You know we are! You are the only person who has ever cared about me. No one else in that godforsaken school treated me like you did!"

"I treated everyone like that," Amy muttered.

"No, not like you treated me."

She had to admit he had a point there, though the two of them were pointing it in different directions.

Paul hugged her again. "We should run away together, maybe get lost someplace. No Steve Kellers around...no Carl Duncans...no…"

"Brenda Masons, Shannon Whitneys, Shawn Dennes, Darren Oberlanders...Glen Johnsons," she added with a tinge of acrimony in her voice. "Say, since we've come to a sort of understanding, maybe you'll tell me why."

"Why what?" Paul asked, letting go of her and walking over to the oven.

"Why you killed them."

Paul turned off the oven. He grabbed an oven mitt off the counter and opened the oven door. "I didn't kill anyone. Though I could wager a guess as to why they died." He grabbed a pan out of the oven and closed the door.

Amy rolled her eyes and sat back down. She gingerly placed her broken arm on the table. "Okay, wager a guess."

As Paul took out plates and distributed the lunch onto them, he spoke. "Carl Duncan was a sleezeball. He was cheating on his wife, he treated homeless brats better than his own kid, and he was laundering money. Add to that the fact that he was screwing half his female students both literally and figuratively, and is it any surprise that it caught up with him?"

Amy hated to admit it, that the things Paul was saying about Carl were accurate, but it still didn't mean the man deserved to die.

"Shannon Whitney stole your internship. Pretty sure she got it by sleeping with someone. A whore getting an internship working with troubled kids...I'd say karma got her. Shawn Denne treated women like objects. Any man like that also gets karma eventually. Brenda Mason was a duggie. End of that story. And Darren was a homosexual. There is a special place in hell for them."

Amy knew Paul had odd ideas and was biased about many things, but she hadn't realized just how much of a bigot he was. She felt that if she had two good arms and the energy, she'd love to beat the pulp out of him as revenge for the fallen.

"And my dad? What was so 'evil' about my dad?"

Paul brought the plates over to the table and set them down. "How about some creme soda?"

"I don't like creme soda," Amy said, but Paul ignored her, grabbing two cans of Shasta out of the refrigerator.

He walked back to the table and pulled the tabs off both cans. "Isn't this a great thing, the soda can? So much easier than bottles."

Amy took a deep breath, trying to not lash out at the fact that Paul was ignoring her question by making pointless small talk about soda cans.

"What was so evil about my dad?" she asked again.

"Oh, how rude of me. I should have asked if you wanted a glass. Not everyone likes drinking out of the can," he asked, walking back to the cabinets.

"What was so damn evil about my dad?!" Amy yelled, losing her patience with Paul's evasiveness.

He swung around quickly. "He was just like my dad!" he snapped.

"What?" Amy snapped back in disbelief. "Those two weren't the least bit alike!"

Paul, forgetting the glasses, came back to the table and sat down. "Oh no? They were both against me!"

_Oh, not this shit_, Amy thought.

"My father was always trying to get me to do things his way! Do this job, Paul! Date these girls, Paul! He couldn't stand that I didn't want to be a scumbag like him. So he was rich and successful...big deal! He was also a dictator, a womanizer, and a terrible father!"

"My father was none of those things!" Amy retorted.

"My father was constantly telling me I shouldn't be interested in you. Every damn time a dance or something came around, he'd always tell me to either ask some other skank at our school, or to not go at all. Then your father would side with him! He'd make excuses when I'd come over."

"What?"

"About you not being at home and stuff. Or he'd flat out lie and say you had plans or a date already."

Amy said a silent prayer, thanking her father.

"So because he didn't like you, he was evil and deserved to die?" Amy felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Neither one of them got it! They couldn't see what their wives knew to be true!"

"Which was…"

"That we belong together! You and me! We'd be the happiest couple right now if it hadn't been for those bastards standing in our way! We could have moved to Colorado, gone to school, gotten married and had a couple kids by now...we'd live in a log cabin in the woods…" He stared off into space with a dreamy look on his face.

"You had my whole life planned out for me, didn't you?" Amy asked, slight fear in her voice.

"Would have happened too, if not for them. Your father talking you into going to Cal State instead of USC…"

"I never wanted to go to USC," Amy said.

Paul just stared at her as if to shame her for lying.

"Mom wanted me to go there because she wanted me to study dramatic arts. I had no desire to do that though, so I went to Cal State, where I originally wanted to go. Besides, USC was only 15 minutes away. What was the big deal?"

"You are always disappointing your mother. How can you do that? Do you not feel ashamed for the way you've treated her?"

Amy was sick of this conversation. She leaned in and said to Paul, "If you like my mother so much, why don't you marry her and let me be with Steve?"

Paul responded to her taunt by lifting his leg up and kicking her in the stomach. This caused her chair to fall backward. Amy's head smacked against the floor in a spot close to where it hit the wall earlier. She immediately passed out, but Paul was not done taking his sudden anger out on her. As she lay on the floor unconscious, Paul stomped on her midsection, yelling, "Don't you EVER disrespect your mother like that again! EVER!"

Then, as if a light switch turned off his anger, he turned to the table and said sadly, "Oh, now lunch is going to be cold."


	42. Chapter 42

Amy opened her eyes and saw the ceiling. She slowly picked up her head, moaning as a pain radiated from the back of her skull and down her neck. Her midsection ached and it hurt to even sit in the chair. She couldn't take very deep breaths as there was an excruciating pain coming from her lower ribs any time she tried. Her face felt numb and she wasn't convinced that some facial bones weren't at least fractured.

Paul was standing at the kitchen counter, mixing something in a beaker.

"What are you doing?" she asked, barely moving her mouth.

"Something your boyfriend could never accomplish. Of course, how much intelligence does it take to be a cop? Wallow in filth and oink." He snorted a few times.

Amy glared at him. She really wished she possessed some kind of superpower that allowed her to kill people with her mind, especially since her body was doing her no good.

"Being the genius chemist that I am, I am concocting a serum that when injected, paralyzes every muscle in the body, but the mind keeps going."

Amy gulped. "Why?" she asked, frightened.

Paul looked up at her. "Don't worry; it's not for you." He set the bottle he had in his hand down and walked over to Amy. He leaned over and got in her face.

"Won't it be funny to watch Steve try and save you, but he can't move? He'll be stuck watching me do things to you that he only dreams about." He smirked and chuckled.

She spit in his face.

He closed his eyes and tried not to lose his temper as he wiped the saliva off his face.

"He'll never allow you to get close enough to him to inject him with some bullshit serum," Amy snapped.

"You act like he'll have a choice."

"Why are you doing this? Why can't you just leave him alone?" Amy started crying, going from angry to sorrowful at the drop of a hat.

Paul pulled a chair close to the one Amy was in and sat down. "My father did give me one piece of advice that I found helpful. 'The only way to get to the top,' he said, 'was to eliminate your competition.' And I have to admit - Steve Keller was some stiff competition."

Amy stared straight ahead and began shaking. That was what dream Paul had said right before he shot Steve.

"My original plan was to make his death look like a diving accident. Do you have any idea what carbon dioxide does to the body?"

Amy looked at him, frightened, and shook her head.

"A little is necessary. I mean, that's what we exhale, but when we end up with more of that than oxygen...oh boy. First you start breathing heavy, your heart rate jumps...but you're so tired. Then you get sick to your stomach, collapse, convulse, and die. It's a terrible way to go! But who would question someone going for a little deep sea diving and mistakenly grabbing a tank of carbon dioxide instead of oxygen? Honest mistake."

"What makes you think anyone would believe Steve would go diving anyway?" Amy asked.

"Mr. Adventure? Are you kidding me? Listen, Babe, I don't cause chaos without doing a little research. No one would have thought anything of it."

"But you changed your mind? You're not going to kill him?" Amy asked, with a slight bit of hope in her voice.

Paul nodded. "I never said _that_, but you're right, I did change my mind. Actually, you changed it. Do you know how betrayed I felt when Mrs. J told me you were dating a cop? Of all the men in the world you could have shacked up with...you had to pick a damn COP!"

Amy winced. His yelling felt twice as loud as it actually was, and Amy couldn't stand it. "Don't yell! It hurts!" she cried.

"Sorry. You know that sensitivity to noise is a sign of a concussion. Well, hopefully you'll be a good girl from now on so I don't have to hurt you again. The next blow might be fatal."

Amy let her tears fall down her face. She didn't want to die, and she couldn't stomach the thought of Steve dying either. "Why do you hate the police so much?" she asked, thinking maybe she could change Paul's mind about Steve and save them both.

"Because they're arrogant and can be bought for the right price."

"Steve's not like that. He's honest and humble."

"How the hell would you even know? You've known the bastard a week! He's just like all those other assholes in the LAPD. You flash them a little cash, and the trouble you've found yourself in suddenly disappears!"

"That doesn't happen in real life. That's something you see in the movies."

Paul laughed. "Is that right? Well then, I guess my father is a movie star! One night in 1962, my dad gets caught in the middle of a prostitution sting...with his pants down of course. Does he end up in jail where he belongs? Nope. Buys the cops off and gets out without so much as a smudge on his record. Happened two other times after that."

"Okay, so there are a couple crooked cops in the LAPD. How does that one incident make you think all cops are like that? San Francisco cops are good guys."

"One incident? It was far from one incident. I never told you about the cop who raped my mother, did I?"

Amy just looked at him, wondering if he was telling her the truth or making up a sympathy story.

"My mom gets her purse snatched and some cop saves her. My poor mother, being lonely and neglected by her husband, falls for the jerk's nice guy act. They go out a couple times, but I can tell he's only in it for the jollies...the _hero worship_." Paul made sure to put extra emphasis on the words hero worship.

Amy stared at her lap.

"One night, I walk in on him raping her. But you know what the worst part was? She still loved him. She's _still_ not over him!"

"So you hate all cops because your mother fell for one who used her? I'm sorry she went through that, but she could have fallen for a garbage collector and been treated the same way," Amy said.

Paul stood up, picked up the chair he was sitting on, and slammed it back down on the floor. The loud thud made Amy jump.

"She thought just like you're thinking. This guy saved me and now he loves me! Part of her still doesn't get that it doesn't work that way! I am NOT going to let you get that way too! So I changed my plan, since eliminating everyone from your life didn't seem to be working. I decided to take you and hopefully, through a little intervention, make you see the error of my mother's ways. Cops are scum-sucking, narcissistic pigs! If I could make every single one of them pay for what that one did to my mother, I would. I tried to get that guy at the time, but my mother begged me to leave him alone."

"I will not let you make Steve the surrogate for your anger toward that other guy. He isn't that other guy!" Amy shouted.

"He is! He is that guy! They're all that guy!"

Paul took a few deep breaths while Amy sat and stared at the floor, frightened of what Paul was going to do. He walked back over to the counter and went back to his mixing duties.

"Being a cop, and knowing how much of a bond those pigs have, I figure getting ahold of him won't be easy. But I'm far more intelligent than him, so I'll get it done. Then, I put a little of this stuff in him...and torture him. We'll see just how much he loves you then." Paul laughed a maniacal little laugh.

Amy couldn't stand to picture the scene Paul had painted in her mind. She wasn't going to put Steve through that - she loved him too much. "Please don't!" Amy begged. "Please just leave him alone! I'll do whatever you want!" She began bawling.

Paul stopped for a moment. He then turned around and faced his hostage. "Anything?"

"Yes!"

"So you admit to seeing the error of your ways? You realize that falling for this guy was a big mistake?"

"And that I really should have loved you all along," she cried. "Yes. Just please leave him out of this. Please."

"Okay. Tell you what. I'll put this serum away and forget even going after Keller...if you do one thing for me."

Amy was afraid to ask, but if it meant saving Steve from the torture she was enduring, she'd do whatever Paul wanted with a smile on her face. "What is that?" she asked quietly.

"Marry me."

Amy choked on her own saliva. She imagined a lot of things, all which would be temporarily horrible, but getting married was a long-term thing she might not be able to get out of easily. The alternative though, living freely without Steve, was worse.

"Okay. I'll marry you."

The smile on Paul's face stretched from ear to ear. "Really? You'll marry me?"

Amy nodded slowly.

Paul got down on one knee in front of Amy and took her hands in his. "You know how long I have dreamed of this?"

"I can only imagine," Amy muttered.

"Let's do it right now!" Paul suggested.

"What? You're going to take me out of this house? Can we swing by the hospital first?"

"Oh, we're going to get married right here!"

Amy wasn't sure she wanted to ask, but she did anyway. "How exactly are we going to do that? Did you kidnap a minister? We also don't have a marriage license...blood tests...these things take time. I need a dress too. Why don't you let me go home, rest awhile, then we can get this stuff taken care of…"

"I have a dress for you!"

"You what?" Amy asked, disgusted.

"I've had a wedding planned out for years! I have the dress and everything. We'll fake it for now since no, I didn't kidnap a minister. I should have thought of that!"

He stood up, picked up Amy off the chair, and carried her down the stairs to the garage that he'd converted into the bedroom. However, instead of taking a right into the bedroom, he took a left into another concrete room. This one was the same size and had the same overall atmosphere, but instead of a bed, there was an elevated platform at the front of the room. The platform, big enough to lay on, was surrounded by dozens of lit black candles - some on tall candle holders and some on tables - and bouquets of black roses. There were wooden folding chairs in three rows sitting in front of the platform.

"This...this looks like a funeral," Amy muttered.

"Well, that's what it was supposed to be for, but we'll make do. Guess I don't really need it for a funeral anymore anyway, now that you're marrying me!" He set her down on the floor.

Amy realized at that moment that this mock funeral parlor was decorated for Steve's funeral. A cold chill went down her spine and she shivered. She took a seat in one of the folding chairs and wrapped her arms around herself.

Paul ran into the bedroom and grabbed something from the wardrobe. He brought it back and handed it to Amy. It was a white, lacy wedding dress.

"Put this on. I'm going to go put on my tux. Then…" He smiled and ran out of the room and up the stairs.

After she heard the door to the basement close, she draped the dress over a chair, slowly got up, and walked up the stairs. She walked up them doubled over in pain, but she managed to get to the top. What she didn't manage to do was open the door. It was locked from the outside. She banged on it with the little energy she had left - more out of frustration than to get anyone's attention. There was no one out there to hear anyway.

Amy sat down on the top stair and cried into her lap. She had hoped that Steve knew she was missing and that he was out there looking for her right now, but he might not have even gone home or called her. The realization that Steve might not actually be trying to save her depressed her. She sat on the step and prayed to God to kill her right there. It was a better alternative to marrying Paul and being whisked off in the dark to some deserted cabin in the woods, never to be seen again.

After a couple minutes of her pity party, and realizing she wasn't going to die in the next few minutes, she figured it would be worse for her if Paul came back and found her there and not dressed, so she gingerly climbed back down the stairs and as quickly as she could with a broken wrist and ribs, changed into the wedding dress.

Dressing took all her energy, so she sat down in front of the platform and leaned against it. She let her mind wander to what she was going to do once this was over. Would she ever be able to get out? Would she be a prisoner for the rest of her life? What would Steve think about her decision? She hoped he'd think it was the right one because it was keeping the both of them alive, but he might think bad of her instead. That thought upset her and she started crying again, even though it hurt to cry too hard.

A few minutes later, Paul came back down the stairs and entered the "chapel". "You look so beautiful," he told Amy.

She didn't even look at him.

"I wish Keller could be here to see this, but when we make it official, we can send him an invitation."

Amy threw daggers at him with her eyes.

Paul approached her. "Come on, stand up! Can't get married on the floor!"

"It hurts," she whined.

Paul grabbed her arms and yanked her up on her feet. She gasped in pain.

Once he was sure she was steady on her feet, Paul took the place of minister and began the ceremony.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. When I look at these two lovebirds, I am reminded of the many words of William Shakespeare…"

As Paul went on to quote Shakespeare for the next fifteen minutes, Amy did her best to keep standing, though the pain of breathing was becoming more unbearable by the minute. Her head was also still pounding. She felt like she was swaying back and forth, but she couldn't tell if she actually was. All she wanted to do was lay down, close her eyes, and forget life.

Paul's words didn't sound like words; they sounded more like a mush of sound. Individual words would come through clearly, but the rest sounded like a foreign language.

"Paul, will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, and forsaking all others, keep you only unto her, for so long as you both shall live?" Paul asked before resuming his role as groom.

Him grabbing Amy's hands snapped her out of her haze.

"I do," Paul said, looking lovingly at Amy. She found his expression creepy.

Resuming his position as minister, Paul then asked the same to Amy. She nodded nonchalantly.

"I'll take that as a yes. Will you now exchange rings?" Paul said before stepping back in front of Amy and pulling two ring boxes out of his jacket pockets.

"You have rings?" Amy asked in disbelief.

"Of course! No wedding is complete without them!" He handed one box to Amy and opened the one he kept.

Amy opened her box and found a simple gold band inside. She took it out and threw the box on the floor. Paul handed her his left hand and she quickly slipped the ring on his ring finger. She then immediately dropped his hand, not wanting to touch him more than she had to.

"Give me your hand," Paul whispered.

She raised her left hand and Paul took ahold of it. The entire time he was putting the ring on her finger, she was biting her lip in pain. Even jostling the wrist slightly was agonizing.

Once the rings were exchanged, Paul became the minister again.

"By the authority vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Paul went to Amy and kissed her passionately. Amy made no effort.

"Look Honey," he said, pointing out to the rows of empty chairs, "they're all so happy for us!"

"Uh huh," was all Amy had the energy to say.

"What do you say we skip the reception and go straight to the honeymoon?" Paul suggested, scooping Amy up in his arms.

She wailed out in pain. "The what?" she asked, panicky.

"Honeymoon. Why wait to consummate the marriage when the bed is all ready for us? Besides, I've been waiting my whole life for this moment. This time, it'll go as planned, unlike prom night." He walked her across the landing into the bedroom.

Amy cried, not caring if it made Paul mad or not.

"Aww, tears of happiness! I feel the same way, Sweetheart," Paul said, completely misinterpreting her cries.

He set her down gently on the bed, which was still covered in the rose petals. "This is what I have been saving myself for. It's going to be magical. That's what your first time is supposed to be, isn't it? Pure magic." He sat down on the bed beside her.

"First time?" she asked, closing her eyes and praying that she passed out.

"Yeah. Your first time making love. Two untouched angels melting their love into one. You saved yourself for me and I saved myself for you."

Amy wanted to throw up, but instead she started laughing.

"What is so funny?" Paul asked, confused.

Amy opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. "Two virgins, huh?" She laughed harder. "Well then aren't you going to be disappointed."

Paul's smile faded. "What are you talking about?"

She gave him an evil grin. "You're too late."

"What?" he asked angrily, standing up.

"You're too late!" she shouted. "Someone beat you to it, and I couldn't be happier!"

Paul's anger grew to heights Amy had not yet seen. He stormed out and went back into the other room. He made a racket for a minute, then came back into the bedroom. He had a piece of wood in his hand, which Amy recognized as a piece of one of the folding chairs.

She realized that no matter how much she enjoyed rubbing in her sleeping with Steve, she'd gone too far. "Paul! Don't do anything you'll regret! Paul!"

Fortunately for her, the pain was far too great, and she quickly lost consciousness.

* * *

Mike, along with Bill Tanner and Lee Lessing, pulled in front of a house in the 1300 block of 4th Ave. It was the second to last property on the list, and Mike's patience was wearing thin. Normally a keep-it-together kind of guy, as he got out of the car he thought, _God help the man when I get ahold of him. He'll need all the help he can get_.

"Mike, what are we going to do if we find nothing here, and Murphy, Healey, and Grabowski find nothing at the last address?" Bill asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

"Then we'll tear this entire town apart if we have to," Mike answered.

Tanner and Lessing shot each other a look, both a bit worried at how angry Mike sounded.

The three men climbed the steps to the front door of the house. After one round of knocking and announcing themselves, Lessing went back down the stairs and started wandering around, looking in windows. Tanner did the same, but in the opposite direction. Both men ran down the block, seeing if they could get around to the back of the house. Mike was ready to kick the door down, citing exigent circumstances, when an older lady came running over from next door.

"Yoohoo! Officer?" she called out.

Mike left the front door, ran back down the stairs, and met her at the bottom. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I couldn't help overhearing you banging on the door over here. Is there some trouble?"

Mike wondered how she couldn't help overhearing something that wasn't loud enough to reach her house, but he ignored it. "Do you know who lives here?" he asked instead.

"A young man, probably in his mid 20's. He's in and out a lot. I haven't seen him around since early this morning. If he were here, his car would be in the driveway. Always backed in. I think he's unloading secret things out of his trunk in the dark."

"Oh?" Mike wasn't sure if this was helpful information or not.

"He just seems...odd. And rude. A very rude young man. Like his father taught him no manners whatsoever."

"But you haven't seen him since this morning?"

The lady shook her head. "He left about 8:30 and hasn't been back. I would know; I sit on my steps a lot, watching the neighborhood."

"What kind of car does he drive?" Mike asked, getting a pad of paper and pen out of his coat.

"Some powder blue thing. Um...Meteor maybe? I think that's what the front of the car says. Like I said, it's always backed in, so when I take Fifi for walks, I can see the front of the car."

"You seem like a pretty observant woman," Mike told her. "You don't happen to know the license plate?"

She closed her eyes, trying to visualize the plate. "The last two numbers are 42, I'm pretty sure. I remember that because my daughter was born in 1942. And the letters….IK something. Like Irene Kruger, my hairstylist. I can't be sure of the last letter. You look at something every day, but you never really see it, do you?"

"That's alright. We'll be able to work with this."

"Say, is that boy in some kind of trouble? It wouldn't surprise me. He's always doing seedy things. And his drapes are never open! I miss the lady who used to live here. She was personable. I often wonder where she went. It was like, one day she was here, the next she was gone and that young fellow was living here. No for sale sign ever went up!" She shook her head. "Now I have to deal with a dog hater who runs his air conditioner all day and night, even when it's not hot."

"Huh?" Mike asked.

"He has one of those window units in one of his back windows, and the thing runs non stop! It's very annoying. I hear it all night when I have my bedroom window open."

Tanner and Lessing both came back to the house.

"Are you trying to get in?" the neighbor asked. "I don't think his garage door is locked. It wasn't that one time I thought Fifi got locked in."

Mike gave her a curious look.

"I thought he kidnapped her! She yaps at him; she knows who's evil. She went missing one day, and I swore he stole her and locked her in his garage!"

"And…" Mike prompted.

"She was in there! But the door wasn't locked, so I took her and got out."

Tanner shrugged his shoulders and lifted the door. It opened, revealing an empty garage. Mike told the neighbor to go back to her house, and then the three inspectors entered the garage, guns drawn. No one was taking chances.

Lessing tried the handle on the door that led into the house. Finding it unlocked, the three men slowly entered the house, one at a time, ready to shoot if the need arose. After checking the room adjacent to the garage, they climbed the stairs and entered the kitchen, which was empty. The next room was the living room, which was also clear. They next climbed the stairs to the top floor, where they found an empty bathroom, an empty bedroom, a small, dark room, and a room with several locks on the door.

"What is this?" Mike remarked, holstering his gun and looking at the numerous security measures.

"Something quite suspicious if you ask me," Bill said.

Lessing, who'd gone into the small room, shouted at his superior. "Uh, Mike? You might...or might not...want to take a look at this."

Bill and Mike gave each other curious looks. Mike told Bill to work on getting the locked door open - he was worried Paul had locked Amy in there - and then went to see what Lee had found.

He entered the room and saw his colleague staring at a wall. Mike turned to look at the wall and found it had been used as a makeshift bulletin board. It was covered from one side to the other in papers and photographs. "What in the…" Mike muttered.

"If we were unsure this was our guy before, we're not now," was all Lee said.

Mike got closer for a better look. The photos and the papers were all about the six victims in their investigation.

"Looks like he stalked them first," Lee said. "These all look like they were taken from far away."

Mike nodded. "And then he wrote down all his plans on these sheets of paper," he said, pointing to all the papers with the scribblings of a madman all over them.

"Then he relished in the glory of his accomplishments," Lee added, pointing to the newspaper articles on the deceased.

"What a sick…" Mike couldn't come up with anything clean to say, so he just said nothing.

The two men read the wall with all the interest of a driver witnessing a gruesome car accident. Then Lee muttered, "Oh shit," under his breath.

Mike wondered what had gotten his colleague so riled up. He went to the far side of the wall and saw what Lee was looking at. It was the photograph of Steve that Paul had drawn a red x on the night before.

"That's not a good sign, Mike," Lee said, obvious fear for his colleague in his voice. "He's even got plans for Steve." Lee couldn't stomach reading them.

"No it isn't, but that's one reason I sent him back to the station. He'll be safe there." His voice gave away his fear however.

"Hey, Mike!" Bill shouted from the hallway.

"Bag everything in the room. Even if it doesn't look like part of the case, bag it anyway!" Mike said to Lee before leaving the room and going to see what Bill had.

"There's no way I can get into this room, Mike. These are some sturdy locks," Bill said in defeat.

Mike put his ear to the door. "I don't hear anything. Amy!" he shouted. "Amy, it's Mike! Are you in there? Make some noise if you can!"

Bill looked at him, and Mike shook his head. "I hear something, but it sounds like a constant humming." He thought back to what the neighbor had said about the air conditioner.

"Why would he have an air conditioner running non stop in just this one room?" he asked Bill.

He shrugged. "Keep a body from decaying?" He then shook his head, disgusted at his own thought.

Mike gave him a disgusted look, but remembered a case from his pre-Steve Keller days where that had actually been a factor. "Get the fire department in here! We need to get this door down! If Amy is in there, she may not have much time left!"


	43. Chapter 43

_**The calm before the storm, so to speak. Thanks to everyone for the kind words and the continued readership! It keeps me excited about the story. :)**_

Steve walked into the San Francisco County Assessor's office. He explained to the lady at the reception desk what he needed, and she proceeded to grab as many books as she could for him to look through.

After an hour, she came back to where he was sitting. "Any luck?"

Steve was sitting at a long table that was completely covered in books. "No," he said sadly.

"I'm not doing much right now, and I'm kind of on a break, so I could help look on the computer if you wanted."

"That would actually be great. Thank you."

The receptionist sat down. "You mentioned looking for aliases and such. What have you tried?"

"I looked for his mother's name. No luck there. I thought maybe he'd used her maiden name with his, but nothing there either. I even looked for Amy Carpenters, but that didn't pan out either...thank God." He shuddered. "I think I've looked for every name associated with this case in every combination I could make."

"Hmm. Let's see...if I were someone who was obsessed with another person...I'd use any name associated with her I could. What names could we associate with just her?"

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. "I wish I knew. I don't even know most of the people she does." He sat and thought for a while. "Her mother and father? But he killed her father; I kind of doubt he'd want anything to do with him."

"How does he feel about her mother? I mean...okay, this probably sounds sick, but I have a friend who used to date this guy who was a little obsessive. He loved her to pieces, but he also loved her mother a lot, just for giving birth to this, and I quote, 'perfect specimen.' It's almost like he was obsessed with the woman just because she gave his girlfriend life."

Steve began thinking about Margaret Johnson's admiration of Paul. He wondered if the feeling was mutual enough.

"You know, that's a dumb idea. Forget I said it," the girl muttered.

Steve shook his head. "No, actually it's not. I was looking for his mother's maiden name...but maybe I was looking for the wrong mother. Can I use your phone?"

The receptionist nodded and walked back to her desk with Steve. He picked up the receiver and dialed the station.

"Norm? Steve. Do me a favor and look through that file on my desk and see if you can find a maiden name for Margaret Johnson. Yeah, I'll wait."

Steve waited for what seemed like an eternity. He was growing impatient, strumming his fingers on the desk, looking at his watch every few seconds, and pacing back and forth.

"Okay, got it," Norm finally said.

"Where'd you go to look, Alaska?" Steve griped.

"Hey, it's a thick file! Her maiden name is Nielsen. N-I-E-L-S-E-N."

"Got it. Thanks, Norm." Steve hung up the phone and asked the receptionist for a pad of paper and a pen, realizing that he wasn't wearing his jacket and didn't have his trusty notepad.

"Nielsen? I could look that up on the computer," the girl said.

"Paul, Amy, Margaret, Vera...any of those names."

She nodded and started typing.

Two minutes passed, and Steve was again growing impatient. "Anything?"

"Not so far...wait, here's something. A property on Thomas Avenue is owned by a Paul Nielsen. That's the only property he owns in the city."

"At this point, I'm giving it a shot. What's the address?"

"1281 Thomas Avenue."

Steve quickly scribbled the address down, tore the paper off the pad, and thanked the lady for the help. She wished him luck on finding his victim.

* * *

Mike stood in the small room and watched as several inspectors took the photographs and papers off the wall. They were also going through the entire house and bagging anything that even sort of looked like evidence. Occasionally someone would bring Mike something that looked like it might be a clue, but nothing told Mike where Paul or Amy were.

He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to four, and the later it got, the worse Mike felt. He grew more concerned with each passing minute they didn't find Amy. He was starting to feel like Steve did - distracted and emotional. He was worried for her; everything Paul had done and everything Steve had said about him made Mike dread the outcome.

He also feared for his partner. He had no doubt that Steve would not take it well if anything happened to Amy. Mike had never seen him so wrapped up in a woman in the four years he'd known the boy, and he was scared that Steve would fall apart beyond repair. Part of him wanted to call the station and check on Steve, but he needed to keep his head in the search and worried that he too would fall apart if he heard any apprehension in Steve's voice.

He stepped out of the small room and saw two firemen had almost gotten the door cut away enough to step through. Bill soon joined him and the two waited a few more minutes until the firemen told them they could enter the room.

The first thing Mike noticed was the drastic change in temperature between the hallway and the mystery room. "Well, I guess we found the air conditioner."

He and Bill stepped in and both stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the only furniture in the room - the bed. There was a blue comforter on top which was completely covering a human-sized lump.

"Dear God, don't let this be what I think it is," Mike muttered.

He and Bill looked at each other, neither wanting to be the one.

"One of us is going to have to do this," Bill said.

"Yeah...and one of us is a lieutenant," Mike said, deciding to pull rank on this one.

Bill swallowed hard and slowly approached the bed. Closing his eyes, he grabbed the comforter and pulled it back as if he were pulling off a bandage as quickly as possible to avoid pain.

"Oh man!" Lessing exclaimed, walking into the room. Mike gasped.

Bill opened his eyes and saw what everyone was reacting to - a mummified corpse wrapped in a large plastic bag. He turned around and scooted away from the bed as fast as his feet could move. "I see lots of dead bodies, and it's not a big deal anymore...but a mummy?"

Mike slowly walked over and took a closer look. "Well, this is good and bad."

"Care to clarify?" Lee asked.

"It's good because this is clearly not Amy. Even I can tell this person has been gone for some time. It's bad because now we're back to square one with her. Your instincts were correct about the air though, Bill. This body does look pretty good for however long it's been here."

Mike began thinking of something else the neighbor said. "Bill, go ask the neighbor if she remembers the name of the lady who used to live here. If she does, check that name with Missing Persons. Lee, get Bernie down here."

"There's one man I do not envy," Lee muttered as he and Bill left the room.

Mike took a deep breath and also left the room. He told another inspector to keep guard on the room and to not let anyone else in. He then walked down the stairs and outside to his car. Getting on the radio, he called dispatch and had them check DMV records for a powder blue Mercury Meteor, unknown year, with a partial license plate of *42 IK*, possible owner a Paul Carpenter. After waiting a moment, the dispatcher got on and told him the car was a 1970 Mercury Meteor, California license 742 IKR, registered to a Paul Carpenter, 2657 Timberline Road, Thousand Oaks, California.

Mike was disappointed that the registered address didn't help, but grateful that at least they had a car to look for. He promptly put out an APB on it, praying that one of the many officers driving around the city would spot it and this nightmare would end happily. Another dead body didn't ease his worries though.

* * *

On the way to the Thomas Avenue address, Steve noticed broadcasts over the radio were cutting in and out. When he'd gone to the motor pool to grab a car, all that was left were a couple Galaxie 500s that were on their way out to pasture. At the time, Steve didn't care as long as it got him to City Hall, but now he could see why they were clear in the back of the garage.

He turned up the volume just as the dispatcher was relaying Mike's APB on Paul's car. The message kept cutting in and out, but he heard _blue Mercury *static* California license 742 I *static*_. He radioed in for clarification, but couldn't tell if what he heard next was aimed at him or not - it all sounded like gibberish. He hit the steering wheel in disgust, but kept driving.

Once he got close to Thomas Avenue, which was in the neighborhood close to Candlestick Park, he started driving slowly, looking at everything possible for a sign that Paul was around. Turning right onto Thomas from Ingalls, Steve was driving at a crawl. He looked at the addresses...1293...1289...1285...there it was - 1281. He pulled his car behind another car that was parked in the driveway. He looked at that car and saw that it was a blue Mercury Meteor, California license 742 IKR.

Steve smiled, knowing that he'd finally caught up with the enemy. He picked up the mic and tried to radio in his location and ask for back up, but his call was met with static. He attempted to call one more time, but he got the same response. It came down to waiting to see if anyone came to help or go in on his own. Feeling that Amy was in grave danger, he chose the latter, knowing Mike would be furious - but not caring.

He exited the car and drew his gun. Looking all around, he saw that there were no other people on the street or the sidewalk. He approached the house and stood between the garage and the steps that led up to the front door. Peeking around the corner, he saw the steps were clear, so he slowly walked up them to the front door. There was no window in the door, so he tried the handle and found it unlocked. He was suspicious, but chose not to dwell on that; he had a gun and a quick trigger finger.

He stepped in and saw an empty kitchen. Listening for movement or voices, he heard nothing but the whirring of the refrigerator. Walking further into the house, he came into the dark living room, which soon became darker as he was suddenly jumped from behind and hit over the head.

* * *

"What's your verdict, Bernie?" Mike asked the coroner.

"I don't see an obvious cause of death, but my educated guess is that this poor woman died at least a couple years ago. It's hard to tell, since the cold air slowed down decomp somewhat."

"He kept her in this house for two years?" Mike said, shaking his head.

Just then, Bill Tanner came in the room. "Neighbor thought her name was Marilyn, so I went to Missing Persons and had them pull any reports for Marilyns. We got three hits," he said, holding up three folders.

"How old is this lady, Bernie?" Mike asked.

Bernie sat and thought for a moment. "Early to mid 40's I'd say. She's approximately five feet, seven inches tall, brunette hair, caucasian."

Bill looked through his folders. "This must be her then. Marilyn Riddle, 43, reported missing in March of '72 by a co-worker when she didn't show up two days in a row. No one could ever get ahold of her. Her address is listed as some place on Greenwich Street."

"That would be a little over two years. I wonder how she got here." Mike shook his head again. "We'll figure all that out tomorrow. Right now we need to focus on finding Amy. Any hits on the car yet?" he asked Bill.

Bill simply shook his head.

"Is Lessing still around?"

"He's downstairs," Bill said.

"Take him and start driving around. Check in with Olsen - he has a command post set up and is assigning people areas to check."

Bill nodded and left the room. Mike followed him and decided to make the phone call he'd be wanting to make for the last hour. Maybe there was something Amy had told Steve that could point to a location no one had thought of. Though he hadn't mentioned this to anyone, Mike was afraid that the mystery location was in Los Angeles since both Paul and Amy were from there. If he had taken her out of town, the chances of finding her were the worst they'd been all day.

Mike sighed and picked up a phone he found in the living room.

"Haseejian, let me talk to Steve."

There was a pause.

"Norm, are you there? Put Steve on the phone."

"Well, Sir...I can't," Norm said, nervous as could be.

"Why not?"

"He's….he's not exactly here."

"What do you mean he's not there? I told that boy to stay put!"

"I know you did, but he came up with a possible lead, and…"

"He went off to investigate on his own. Little…."

"He only went to City Hall, Mike," Norm said, trying to make it not sound so bad.

"City Hall? What for?"

"He had some names to look up through the assessor. He'd narrowed down a few possible locations that were not on your list, so he was going to run those against possible aliases."

Mike wanted to smile and scream at the same time. He loved Steve's resourcefulness and his ability to think beyond the surface, but he hated his need to get things done on his terms when they should be done on Mike's.

"And you haven't seen him since he left?"

"No, Sir."

"Okay. Say, while you're there, I want you to look up a missing person by the name of Marilyn Riddle. I want to know how she's connected to this Carpenter case."

"I'm on it," Norm said, hanging up.

Mike hung up and went to his car. He called dispatch and inquired about the last location Steve had called in from. They informed him that his last check in was at City Hall. Mike then got behind the wheel and drove off in that direction.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, Mike walked into the San Francisco County Assessor's office and greeted the same receptionist that had helped Steve.

"I'm looking for an inspector who is supposedly here," Mike informed her.

"Inspector Keller? He left probably 45 minutes ago? No, more like an hour."

"Did he happen to say where he was going?" Mike asked, frustrated that now Steve was missing as well.

The receptionist shook her head. "Not really, but I'm guessing he went to check out that address he found."

"What address was that?"

"He was looking for an address where he could find a victim. He had a list of names some guy might have used to buy property under. We finally found a possible one."

"You don't happen to remember where that was?" Mike asked, hoping and praying she did.

"12...13….I'm thinking it was a name."

"What was a name?"

"The street. It was a person's name. Like….Scott...no."

"Eddy?" Mike suggested.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Give me some more."

Mike started rattling off street names as they came into his head. "Irving…Vernon..."

She shook her head again.

"Beverly, Victoria, Randolph, Lawrence, Laura, Dwight, Thomas…"

She snapped her fingers. "I think it was Thomas. Yeah, Thomas Avenue!"

"Good! Now think about the address. Think hard!"

She thought for a second, then said, "Wait, he wrote it down on this pad." She grabbed the pad of paper that Steve had written the address down on and tried to read the imprint on the next page.

"Go over it with a pencil," Mike told her.

She did as instructed and soon could tell exactly what Steve had written. "1281 Thomas Avenue." She looked up at Mike, smiling. "We found out the registered owner was a Paul Nielsen. Nielsen was someone named Margaret's maiden name…?"

"Margaret Johnson?" Mike asked, a bit confused.

"Yeah, her."

"Thank you so much; you've been a big help!" Mike told the receptionist as he ran out the door.

"I hope you catch this guy!" she shouted after him.


	44. Chapter 44

_**I've been on a roll lately, so here it is...the storm. :)**_

Steve groaned. It felt like an entire drum line was performing a halftime show in his head. Opening his eyes slowly, he saw nothing but lit candles in front of him. He also saw that he was lying flat on a metal table and his hands had been crossed over his stomach. Adding these together, he wondered if he was actually dead and at his own funeral.

His head kept pounding, and assuming that the dead did not feel pain, he decided he was still alive, but couldn't remember where he was or how he got there. He sat up and looked around. The room was cold, both in temperature and atmosphere. His vision was blurry, but he could tell there were folding chairs laying askew and black roses everywhere.

Taking his time, he got down off the platform and tried to reflect. It took a moment, but his thoughts finally came back to him and he remembered walking into the house on Thomas Avenue. Since the back of his head was throbbing, and there seemed to be a chunk of time missing from his day, he figured that someone, probably Paul, had hit him over the head. He quickly checked his holster - empty. Paul had his gun, too.

Now he needed to figure out where he was, where Amy was, and how they were going to get out of this mess. The fact that he'd just put them both in possible danger and that Mike would rake him over the coals was pushed to the back of mind. He'd cross that bridge later.

Having no idea where he was in the house, and having no idea where Paul was either, he had to be quiet and careful. He grabbed a candle off one of the tables and started wandering around the room. Finding that he was the only one there, he headed for the open door. Outside, he saw nothing but a staircase, a little bit of floor, and a door, which was opened a crack, straight ahead.

In the meantime, Amy was also waking up. She opened one eye and saw nothing but darkness. She also felt nothing; she was numb from head to toe. Everything below her chest seemed to be missing. The only things that indicated she was still alive were that she tried but couldn't move her left wrist, she felt a slight ache in her head, and she could feel herself wiggling the toes on her left foot. She reached down and touched her right leg to make sure it was actually there. At the same time, she realized she was no longer wearing the wedding dress. In fact, she was wearing nothing at all. The only thing hiding her shame was a blanket that had been thrown on her. Assuming that after Paul attacked her, he raped her, she started crying.

"Please, God...just let me die," she yelled breathlessly. She couldn't feel the pain in her chest, but she still couldn't breathe well.

Steve, thinking he heard someone, tried opening the mystery door, but it barely budged. He set the candle down and tried pushing on it. Again, it barely moved an inch. "What the hell?" he muttered.

Amy stopped crying in an instant. She figured her mind had completely gone, but she swore she heard someone outside the room, and that someone did not sound like Paul. She wanted to call out to the person, but not knowing that it _wasn't_ Paul kept her silent. So she listened, hoping the person said something else.

Steve kept pushing on the door, moving it mere inches each time. He couldn't understand why a plain wooden door wouldn't move any more than it was. It didn't feel like it was being blocked with furniture - it felt like it weighed a ton all on its own.

Amy heard the door opening. It made the same concrete on concrete sound that it had when Paul had walk in earlier in the day. However, Paul seemed to open it quicker and easier. Maybe that meant this wasn't Paul?

Taking a chance, she said, "Hello?" as loud as she could. It barely sounded like a whisper, so she tried again. "Hello!"

Steve stopped. "Amy?" he said quietly. He'd managed to open the door roughly six inches, so he put his ear to the opening.

"Help...me!" Amy shouted, pain in her voice.

"Amy, Honey, is that you? It's Steve!" he said into the room.

Upon hearing Steve's voice, Amy lost all control over her emotions. She answered with crying.

Steve had heard her cries enough to recognize them. He chuckled. "You know, I never thought I'd be glad to hear you cry!" he said.

"The door...it's cement," she said, hoping that would help him get in quicker.

"He put you in a room with a cement door?" Steve said, disgusted. He took a deep breath and pushed as hard as he could. After a minute, he'd pushed the door open enough that he could sneak through. Once he got inside however, he couldn't see a thing. He slipped back out the door, grabbed the candle he'd set on the floor, and slipped back inside the room.

Once he had some light, he saw Amy lying on the bed, crying.

"There's...a lamp...over there," Amy said, pointing to her right.

Steve walked over to the lamp and turned it on. He blew out his candle and then looked to his right. "Oh dear God," was all he could say.

Thinking she appeared too horrible to look at, she started crying harder. She grabbed the blanket and threw it over her face.

Steve set the candle on the table and looked around the room. He saw rose petals and an empty champagne bottle on the floor. He also noticed a wedding dress laying at the end of the bed.

"What the hell did he do to you?" he said, emotion apparent in his voice.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and forced Amy to let go of the blanket she held over her face.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried.

Steve looked at her badly-beaten face. She had a black eye, a split lip, and several other bruises and lacerations on her cheeks. He gently pushed some hair away.

"What are you sorry about?" he asked, tears forming in his eyes. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have stayed home with you or..."

"You didn't...do this. It was my mom..."

"Your mom?"

Amy noticed the blood on Steve's shirt. "Is that yours? What did...he do to you?" she asked, panicking.

He looked down, forgetting that he even had blood still on his shirt. "No, it's not. It's…" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Is it Karen's?"

Tears fell out of Steve's eyes. He nodded.

Amy closed her eyes and bawled, so Steve gently picked her up and the two sat and cried in each other's arms.

As he rubbed her back, he felt that she wasn't wearing anything. "Did he...did he...?" He couldn't bring himself to finish this thought either.

"I think so. He made me...marry him. Then he dragged...me in here...for a honeymoon. He kept talking...about us being...virgins...and I told him...he was too late. He came at me...with a...I don't remember...anything after that." She paused before asking, "Is Karen….dead?"

Steve pulled her away and looked in her eyes. "I don't know. She was still alive when Mike and I got there. I haven't heard anything. Mike kicked me off the case."

"Why?"

"Because I lost my cool and started breaking things in my own apartment after we realized that Paul had you."

Amy put her right hand on the side of his face. "That was stupid," she said with a chuckle.

Steve smiled. "Yeah, it was." He then closed his eyes and scrunched up his face.

"Are you...okay?" Amy asked, concerned.

"Bastard hit me over the head with something. I woke up lying on a table in the room across the hall."

"The funeral room. He...set it up for...your funeral."

"How sweet of him. Maybe we'll save it for his instead."

"If you were...kicked off the case...then how'd...you find me? You're not...going to get fired...are you? I knew...I'd get you fired...one day."

Steve laughed, remembering all the times she'd worried about him losing his job over her. "You know what? I don't care if I do get fired. I'd rather lose all the jobs in the world than lose you. Look, I'll explain the whole thing later. Let's get you dressed and find a way out of here."

"Clothes...in there," she said, pointing to the wardrobe.

Steve jumped up and went to the wardrobe. He grabbed the first thing he saw and took it back to Amy.

"Can you put it on yourself? I mean…"

"My left wrist...is broken, I think he...broke some ribs, and...I can't feel...the lower half...of my body...and I don't why. He probably...gave me something. Earlier, he was...mixing something that...paralyzes your body...but your mind is still active. He...was going to...give it to you...and torture you somehow….but I...talked him out...of it."

"Please don't be telling me that you took all this abuse to save me," Steve said sadly.

Amy slowly nodded. "I couldn't stand the...thought of you dying."

Steve began slipping the dress he grabbed over her head, going as slowly as he could as not to hurt her further. She gingerly raised her arms and slipped them through the sleeves, wincing as the garment touched her skin.

"You know what I think?" he said, pulling the dress over her chest.

"Hmm?"

"I think you are the strongest, bravest woman I have ever met."

"Why?"

Steve sat back down on the bed in front of her. "Because you endured all that...and you're still alive. You'll never know how thankful I am for that," he said, starting to cry again.

Amy wiped some tears off his face. "Hey, now don't...you start that. I cry enough...for both of us." She did her best to smile.

"Let's get you out of here." Steve stood up and pulled the blanket back. They both saw that Amy's right knee was bloody, bruised, and twice its normal size.

"Maybe that's why...I can't feel my...leg. He must have...used that piece of wood...to break my leg. He was so mad…"

Steve took a deep breath. He wanted to kill this guy more than anything, but the rational part of him knew he needed to get Amy out of the house and let the justice system take care of Paul.

"Do you think you can stand on your left leg?" he asked.

Amy swung around. She tried fully bending her right knee, but it wouldn't budge. "How come...I can't feel it? Am I going...to lose my leg?" She started to panic.

"Baby, look at me," Steve said. "Like you said, he might have given you something to mask the pain, like a nerve blocker. Please don't worry right now, okay? Please?"

Amy nodded and bent her left leg over the side of the bed. She gave Steve her right hand and he helped pull her up.

"I guess...I still have...one good leg." Then she started swaying. "Steve...the room is...fading…"

"Hey, stay with me, okay?" he said, taking a hold of her good arm.

She coughed. "Oh no."

"What?"

"I...taste blood."

"Your rib probably punctured something."

She closed her eyes and her head started to droop.

Steve put his hands on her face. "Amy...Amy! C'mon, Baby, stay with me. I managed to get Karen to stay with me, so I know you can."

"I feel...so tired all...of a sudden."

"I know, Baby, I know. Just a little longer, okay? Then you'll be laying in a hospital bed and on the road to recovery. Does that sound good?"

She smiled a very slight smile and opened her eyes again.

As Steve went to drape Amy's good arm over his shoulder, a figure came into the room.

Paul, tapping Steve's gun on the side of his face, sauntered over to the couple and said, "I appreciate good poetry. Allow me to quote one of our great modern poets - John Lennon. 'Catch you with another man and that's the end, little girl.' Welcome to the end, ladies and gentlemen!"

He walked closer to Steve. Amy had positioned herself behind Steve.

"I just knew you'd try to save her! The magnificent Steve Keller saves the day once again!" He clapped. "I do have to ask though - how did you find me? I never thought you would. Maybe you're not as dumb as you look."

"Using Margaret's maiden name as yours on the title of this house wasn't your brightest move," Steve uttered.

"What?" Amy asked. "My mom?"

"The owner of this house is Paul Nielsen. That's how I was able to find you," Steve explained. "That, and there's a car in the driveway that's registered to him. Not hard to put two and two together."

"You're sick!" Amy told Paul. "She's...sick too."

He shrugged. "At least now I don't have to find a way to kidnap you, too. You made that part of my plan a lot easier."

"Plan? What plan?" Amy asked, worried sick.

"Look, why don't you let me get Amy out of here and to a hospital first, huh? Then you and I can talk about this," Steve suggested.

"Talk? What is that, cop lingo for arresting someone? I know how you guys operate; you don't 'talk'. You lecture and throw in jail."

"That's where...you belong!" Amy snapped.

"No, the only way either one of you is leaving this room is in a body bag!" Paul snapped, waving Steve's gun at both of them. "This thing gives me the upper hand. Thanks for being careless with it. Oh, and definitely thanks for playing solo hero and not bringing any backup. Maybe you are as dumb as you look."

"I called in my location. They'll be here," Steve said.

"That was like, what, 45 minutes ago? They would have gotten here by now. Nice try though!"

Amy let her head fall on Steve's back. "So...what's your plan?" she groaned.

"I am so glad you asked! I have had to change my plan for you two several times now! I'm not sure which one of you is to blame for that." Paul started wandering around the room.

"Pretty boy here did pretty much what I expected him to do. He came in like a hotshot, figuring he'd save the day like a retarded Superman. Typical cop behavior. That's what pretty boy LAPD officer did too."

"What?" Steve asked, already tired of being called 'pretty boy'.

"He thinks...all cops are like...this one from LA...who raped his...mother," Amy explained. "It's one...reason he hates...you."

"You think I go around raping women?" Steve asked, perturbed.

"You did!"

"Who?!"

Paul pointed the gun at Amy. "She'll probably end up like my mother and spend the rest of her life denying it, saying it was consensual, but deep down, she knows better."

Amy lifted her head off Steve's back and maneuvered around him as best she could being dizzy and down a leg. She took ahold of Steve's hand and angrily said to Paul, "You just can't...face your rotten...childhood, can you? You watched...your father go out...on your mother, and...your mother...go out on your father...and it made you...insane. But instead of...getting professional...help, you blame...everyone else. You try to...turn me into...I don't even know what...and you use guys…like Steve as scapegoats. That...other guy probably didn't...even rape your mother! And Steve...sure as hell...didn't rape me. But you did! The...only way you...could get me to...sleep with you was...to torture me. You're...nothing but a ...sick freak!"

Paul got angry. "Shut up! Shut your stupid, lying mouth, you whore!"

Steve started after the guy, but Amy held him back.

"I tried….I tried to turn you into the girl I knew you could be! You're the only girl I ever knew who could fill my mother's shoes! You could have been her, before my father ruined her. But you JUST...WOULDN'T...LISTEN! You only care about what snake oil salesmen like him tell you! He sold you a line...and YOU BOUGHT IT! I tried all day to knock it out of you, and what are you doing? Holding his hand!"

He started pacing back and forth. "Everything would have worked out just fine if you would have done what I wanted! We could have had the marriage my parents had in the beginning! That's what was supposed to happen! Your own mother wanted that to happen! She understood! Why couldn't you be more like your own mother?!"

"I hate my mother!" Amy screamed. She then groaned as the scream caused her pain.

Paul started coming toward Amy, so Steve quickly stepped around and shielded her. "Don't you come any closer to her!" he warned Paul.

Paul stopped. "Or what? Mr. Perfect is going to kill me with his brilliant mind?" He laughed. "I have your gun, remember?"

"You claim to love this woman, right? So let her out of here. She needs to get to a hospital. If you love her so much, then you want to see her well, don't you?" Steve said as calmly as he could.

Paul glared at Amy. "I used to love her. I used to worship the ground she walked on. But then I realized she's nothing more than a dirty whore, just like all the rest of them. I guess she always has been...and always will be! I can't reform her! She's so caught up in your sick and twisted affections that she's worthless now."

"Then let her go!"

"You act like I still care if she lives! You're the one who wants her to live so badly! Can't survive without your marionette, eh, puppet master? Have to have someone to control, don't you? It's the only way cops know how to live. Well...guess what, Hotshot...someone's gotta stop you guys, and I guess I'm just the man to do it. You want her out of here? You'll have to come through me," Paul said, raising the gun and pointing it straight at Steve.

Steve started to move forward, but Amy quickly grabbed his waist. "Steve! Please don't! I am...not going to lose...you like this!"

"You can't stand the thought of losing him, can you? Does it make you feel empty inside? If he were gone, would you feel like you had nothing to live for?" Paul asked, taunting her.

Amy said nothing - her tears told the story enough.

"Now you know how you make everyone else around you feel. You know what you are, Amy Lynn Johnson? You're a tease. A dirty, rotten tease. You bat your eyes, and smile a cute, innocent smile...I bet you even cry a little. Suddenly, guys want to help you, to be your friend, to buy you things. How many panic attacks did I ever see you through, huh? How many times did I let you cry on my shoulder? How many times did you ever tell me something that you wouldn't tell anyone else?! Huh?! And this is how you repay me?! You string me along and then hook up with this overgrown frat boy?!"

"I brainwashed her into sleeping with me, and she's just a big tease who will move on to the next guy when she's through with me. Sounds like we're the perfect pair," Steve snarked. "So why don't you just let us out of here and you can move on with your life and find someone who's just like your mother or Amy's mother or someone else's mother, huh?"

"Let you walk out of here without paying for your sins?" Paul laughed. "Yeah right. Like I said, this gun gives me the upper hand, and you two are leaving in body bags."

Amy tightened her grip on Steve's torso. She was shaking, but she could tell he wasn't perfectly calm either. His heart was beating so fast that she could feel it through his rib cage.

"I just came up with a brilliant plan!" Paul suddenly announced. "Sure, it would be satisfying for me to just shoot you two and be done with it, but that doesn't teach you anything. I need you guys to feel the pain you've put me through."

"And just how to plan on doing that?" Steve asked. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a way to get himself and Amy out of the house. He hoped Paul would say just the right thing for him to come up with something.

"It will kill Amy to watch you die, won't it, Pumpkin?" he said to the terrified woman standing behind Steve.

"Please don't," Amy begged, crying into Steve's back.

"Okay. I'll make you a deal. I won't shoot him if you'll come here," Paul told her.

Amy hesitated.

"What, you don't believe me? I won't shoot him!"

Amy started moving toward Paul, but Steve put his arm out to stop her.

"What are you doing?" he whispered in a scolding tone.

"I don't have...any other choice!" she whispered back. "I can't stand here...and watch you die!"

"You can't go over there either!"

"Will you let her make up her own mind, or do you not trust her to do the right thing?" Paul asked Steve.

"It'll be over soon," Amy said, looking into Steve's eyes with all the pain, sorrow, and fear she had built up.

Steve didn't like what the look told him one bit. He refused to unblock her path, but she forced his arm out of her way and hobbled over to Paul.

"Good girl!" Paul said, positioning himself behind Amy.

"You...promised," Amy told him.

"You're right, and I'm not going to shoot him." He took Amy's right arm, raised it, and put the gun in her hand. "You are."

Amy's eyes bugged out. "You said…"

"I said _I_ wasn't going to shoot him. I'm not the one shooting him if the gun is in your hand!"

Amy lowered her arm. "I am not...shooting him!"

Paul reached into a back pocket of his pants and pulled out a stack of photographs which he promptly showed to Amy. "You know this woman?"

It was a photograph of Janice Duncan. "Yeah."

He flipped to the next picture. "How about this one?"

This time, the photograph was of Sylvia Travers. Amy nodded, so he flipped to a third picture. Amy started crying as she saw a picture of Jasmine, tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth.

"I take it from your expression that you know her, too," Paul said.

"You son of...a bitch," Amy growled. "Where is she?"

"Amy, who is it?" Steve asked apprehensively.

"He's got...Jasmine," she cried.

"How dare you!" Steve said, again lunging toward Paul.

Paul, anticipating Steve's anger, rapidly pulled a switchblade out of one of his front pants pockets and put it to Amy's neck. "I'll slit her throat right here. You can watch her bleed out like a cow in a slaughterhouse."

Steve was forced to back off.

"Let me tell you two lovebirds a story. I went and saw Madam Duncan yesterday after I heard she'd been put in jail."

"How did you hear that?" Steve inquired.

"I have ears everywhere," Paul said arrogantly.

"Alright, then how did you get into the jail? Anybody there should have recognized you and arrested you on the spot."

"Disguise, dumbass! I'm sure you've been undercover and worn one, right, _Inspector_?"

Steve just glared at Paul.

"That bitch is a horrible human being, she really is, but she did have a lot to say about you, Babe." Paul tapped the side of Amy's face with the knife.

"She really hates you, and how you were constantly trying to steal her kid and her husband. I informed her that she was wrong about him - a little favor for you. She was right that he was screwing his students, she just assumed the wrong ones. I may have, however, led her to believe that she was absolutely correct about you wanting to kidnap this little cherub."

"Why the hell would you do that? And why would she believe you?!" Steve yelled.

"I told her I worked at Berkeley and saw every little thing that was going on with both her husband and Amy. She was putty in my hands. I reminded her that without parents, her daughter would be taken by Child Welfare and given to a foster family."

"Oh, let me continue this story," Steve interjected. "You may have reminded her then that Amy was a foster parent and that Child Welfare likes to place children with people they already know if family isn't available. How'd I do?"

"That's why you made detective so young, isn't it?" Paul said condescendingly. "I told her, for a small fee, that I could fix it where Amy would never get ahold of her daughter. I thought it was a good way to get some money out of the cow."

"You…" Amy started, but Paul continued.

"So I go to that other cow that you'd told me about before - the one who Janice bought off? I figure if she was bought off then, she'll be easy to buy again. She tells me Jasmine has already been placed with you. At first I was a little put off, but then I thought, no, this is even better! If she's yanked out of your house, you'll be more heartbroken than you would have been otherwise! And if you're really heartbroken, you'd be more willing to let me help you get her back. If I helped you, you'd have to love me!

So I told her I was the girl's real father, and I'd give her ten grand to get the girl and give her to me. It required her to get a location out of someone named Lois, which I guess she got because the kid showed up on my doorstep last night! Of course, even the best laid plans hit snags. The bitch wouldn't tell me where you were, so I got rid of her," he said as if he were proud. He then sighed. "It was going to work out wonderfully! We'd be a little family...you'd be grateful to me for getting your girl…"

He then put the knife blade up against her throat. "But you didn't do what I wanted!" he said in a singsong voice. "So I changed my plans. Now she's my hostage, and if you want her to live, you'll shoot Inspector Keller here."

"You don't know that he even has her, Amy," Steve told her. "He's probably bluffing."

"I am?" Paul made a disbelieving face. "Guess I'll have to prove it."

He pulled a small remote out of his other front pocket and extended the antenna.

"What is that?" Amy asked, frightened.

He pushed the button. Everyone heard a quiet bang somewhere off in the distance.

"It's a bomb, Love," Paul said with little emotion as he casually tossed the remote aside.

Steve, assuming he'd just blown up a building Jasmine was in, came at Paul again, causing Paul to dig the switchblade farther into Amy's throat.

"Ah ah ah...temper, temper!"

Steve clenched his fists but stayed put.

"That was just a practice run. I blew up a bunch of my father's inventory. No big loss. Besides, if she had been in there, not much you could have done about it, now is there? The next one, though, won't be practice, and it won't be just a worthless warehouse."

Paul put his mouth close to Amy's ear. "You want to save her? Shoot him. Go on, raise the gun."

Amy, shaking, raised her right arm and aimed the gun at Steve. "I can't shoot him!" she said, her voice wavering.

"Sure you can! What good is he anyway? One day, you'll send him off to work, and he'll encounter another woman like you. She's been hurt, or held hostage, and needs someone to save her. In swoops Superman here, cape and all, to save the day. She's so grateful...and pretty...and she has the softest lips…"

"You lie…" she muttered, still shaking. Her tremors were getting so violent that the knife at her throat had penetrated her skin and caused her to lightly bleed.

"He starts not coming home on time...making excuses...sleeps on the couch some nights because he can't lay next to you when he's thinking about her…"

Amy started taking his words to heart. "You wouldn't...do that to me...would you?" she asked Steve through tears.

"I told you...you're the last. I promise you that," he said, desperate to convince her to stop listening to Paul.

"Then, while you're pregnant and fat and stuck at home...he leaves. She's younger, prettier, and skinnier than you. You're washed up and left with his bills and his baby. That must make you angry."

Amy tightened her finger around the trigger. "She has...less baggage. Less scars…"

"Exactly! She's perfect! Everything you're not and never will be. You'll never be completely his, Amy. There's probably someone out there right now wondering when he's coming home to her. She's wondering why he hasn't called...I mean, you have only known him a week…"

Amy glared at Steve and pointed the gun right at his head.

He tried to counter Paul's arguments again, this time more desperately. "Amy, Sweetheart, it's me, Steve. You love me, right? I know you do, because I love you, too. With all my heart. I wouldn't have come here like a moron with no backup and only one gun if I was trying to save someone who meant nothing to me! You...are my life now. I forgot everything that happened before I met you, and none of it matters anymore! None of the people, none of the places...the only thing that matters is you and me. We'll get Jasmine back...and we'll find a little house somewhere, and we'll have our own little family. And I will come home on time every night! I'll make Mike save all the pretty girls!"

He chuckled, causing Amy to smile slightly.

"I love you...and if you don't believe it, then there's nothing more I can say. Go ahead and shoot me, because you'll be killing me anyway."

Amy started lowering her arm. Steve's words had gotten to her more that Paul's. "I...I can't shoot him!" she cried.

Paul got angry. "Oh for the love of…" he muttered as her grabbed Amy's right arm and started lifting it back up. Paul put his hand on top of hers and his index finger over the trigger, where her index finger still was. With all the strength she had left, she fought him, but he overpowered her, lifted the gun, and pulled the trigger.

Steve, clutching his left side, fell to the ground. Amy stood frozen in horror. She'd just shot the love of her life, and he was going to die because of her. Despite the fact that she couldn't bend the right one, both her knees buckled and she sank to the floor. She was too numb to feel any pain anyway.

Paul put the switchblade back in his pocket and took the gun. "Now, see how easy that was? You look a little wiped out though, so I'll finish the job while you sit there and die a slow, miserable death, knowing you just killed your boyfriend. Okay, Honey?" He smiled and walked up to Steve, who had propped himself up against the nightstand, and stood over him, aiming the gun at his head.

"She'll let the fact that she killed you haunt her until she either gives up and dies, or does herself in. You die, she dies, I win!" Paul said as arrogantly and uncaring as he could.

"Wait, wait," Steve said, holding his hand up as to shield himself from a bullet. "I get some last words, don't I?"

"What? Last words?" Paul couldn't believe his ears.

"Even death row inmates get last words before they die. I should get some," he said, wincing in pain.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Fine. I guess it doesn't matter if you die now or a minute from now."

"Amy first." He looked over at her. She was sitting on the floor, bent over and crying at his feet.

"Honey, look at me," Steve told her.

She shook her head no.

"Baby, please look at me."

She reluctantly lifted her head and looked at him. She was ashamed, upset, and regretful, and she couldn't bear to look at him and see hatred in his eyes.

"You remember the story about the prince and the wolf?" Steve asked.

Amy gave him a curious look. "Yeah."

"Remember how the prince slayed the wolf?"

Amy thought for a moment. Things were not coming through very clearly, so she had to really wrack her brain to remember the night before. She played what she remembered of the tale in her head like a film. Coming to the end, she remembered that Stefan had pulled out a secret knife which he used to slay the wolf once and for all.

"Yeah...I remember."

Steve kicked his right leg. Amy turned her head and looked at his leg, wondering if he was trying to tell her he had a secret knife up his pant leg. She then looked up at Paul, who was busy staring at Steve. Turning to Steve, she saw him direct his attention to Paul.

"Now you," Steve said to his captor.

"That was it? _That's_ what you had to say to her? The love of your life, you claim, and all you do is remind her of some dumb story?" Paul scoffed. "You deserve to die just for that!" Paul aimed the gun again.

"You're right. I am an asshole," Steve told him. "I just use women until I get tired of them and move on to the next. Know why I became a cop? The adoration. I wanted to save pretty girls. What can I say? I like being worshipped. I've broken hearts all over town! I guess you could say I saw Amy coming a mile away. There's this girl, lying on the cold ground, bleeding, and all she wants is someone to tell her it's going to be okay. So I do. Can I help it if I'm charming? Occupational hazard. After this case was over, I was going to move on. Sorry, Amy, but it's the truth. I'm just a pretty boy jackass."

While Paul's attention was focused on Steve, Amy tried to discreetly reach up Steve's pant leg. Feeling around, she felt what she assumed was a holster and a gun. She wanted to ask why he hadn't pulled this out before, but there was no time to dwell on minor details. This was going to be on her, she figured, because she couldn't figure out a way to hand Steve the gun without Paul seeing and shooting. She'd never shot a gun in her life, but at this point, she figured she had nothing to lose, even if she did just hit him in the leg.

Then she panicked. She _had_ never shot a gun before, so what if she missed? If she didn't hit him, he'd get mad and shoot them both. She tried looking to Steve for guidance, but he was focused on Paul, so she took a deep breath and told herself it was this or nothing. If she wanted to live to see tomorrow, she'd have to do this right.

Maneuvering the gun out of the holster and out of Steve's pant leg, all while trying to watch and make sure Paul kept his eyes on Steve, was a slow task, but Amy managed to get it done before Steve was done "apologizing." Not knowing if all she had to do was aim and shoot, she put the gun in her right hand, her finger on the trigger, and lifted her arm, aiming it at Paul's side.

"I hope you can forgive me," Steve said to Amy, looking over and seeing that she had the gun in position. "I suppose you have some last words as well?"

"I do," she said. "Please let this work."

Paul, finding what she said bizarre, turned to look at her and found himself staring at the barrel of a small pistol. He had no time to react because as soon as he turned toward Amy, she pulled the trigger. The bullet flew out of the barrel and hit Paul in the right shoulder. He immediately dropped the gun in his hand, which fell onto Steve's stomach. Steve quickly put it in his right hand and aimed it at Paul, who had fallen to the floor, clutching his shoulder.

"You stupid bitch!" he yelled.

Amy, still holding the gun, suddenly slumped over and passed out.

Steve, holding his left side with his left hand and aiming the gun at Paul's head with his right, demanded to know where Jasmine was.

Paul sat up and laughed. "You think you have me scared now? That I'll tell you to keep from dying? No way in hell! I'm going to make you two miserable even from the grave!"

At that point, either not knowing or not caring that Steve could see every move he made, Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. Before he could do anything with it, Steve shot him directly in the heart. Paul's lifeless body fell backward with a thud.

Steve was reluctant to move, but after seeing no sign of life, he set his primary gun on the nightstand, reached over, and checked for a pulse in Paul's neck. There was nothing, so he scooted himself closer to Amy.

Positioning her onto her back, he gently patted the side of her face. "Amy. Amy, Baby, wake up. It's all over now! Come on...come back to me." After getting no response, and fearing her fate was the same as Paul's, he checked her neck for a pulse and found one.

"Oh thank God," he muttered. He then heard what sounded like a door being broken down. He got to his feet as quickly as a bullet wound to the side would let him and walked to the partially-opened concrete door. He looked out to the landing and saw that Paul had left the door to the basement open.

Through both open doors he heard people moving around, but unsure if they were the good guys or not, he stayed quiet. Amy had been right - the wolf was sneaky. Then a voice announced "Clear!" and Steve smiled; he recognized that voice.

"Hey!" Steve shouted. "Down in the basement!"

He then heard another familiar, and very comforting, voice as his partner said, "That sounded like Steve!"

In a matter of seconds, Mike, Bill, Lee, and two uniformed officers appeared at the basement door.

"Steve! Where are you?" Mike asked, looking into a dark pit.

"Down the stairs and to the right. The door is concrete, so you're going to have to push hard!" Steve then backed away from the door and went back over to where Amy lay. He watched as all five officers pushed on the door.

Amy became conscious and turned her head to see what the noise was. "I wonder...how Paul got...that door open...so easily before," she muttered.

Steve leaned over to look her in the face. "Hey you. It's all over."

"Is that...our rescuers?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Paul...is he…"

"Never going to bother you again," Steve said, tenderly stroking her face.

"Where's...Jasmine?" She coughed and just like with Karen, Steve could tell she had fluid in her lungs.

"Please tell me you brought an ambulance!" Steve shouted to the men at the door. He then turned his attention back to Amy. "He wouldn't tell me. She'll be fine, I promise. Not that my promises mean anything anymore…"

Amy slowly reached up and touched Steve's face. "I'm sorry," she cried.

"For what? That I can't keep you guys safe? I'm sorry too..."

"No! Shooting…"

"Hey, don't go there! You didn't do it on purpose! He made you! I'll be fine. You'll be fine. In a week or so we'll be out of the hospital and then I'll sweet talk my partner into giving me some vacation time. We'll go someplace and forget about all this for a while."

Amy winced in pain. "I can't believe...that dumb story...we made up...came true."

Steve didn't have a chance to ask her if she meant the ending or if any of the rest of it happened as well, because the five men finally broke through the door and saw a severely-battered Amy lying on the concrete floor.

"Get those guys down here!" Mike shouted. One officer ran up the stairs to fetch the ambulance attendants.

Mike turned his attention to Steve and noticed he was also bleeding. "You've been hit too! Get another ambulance here!" This time Lee took off up the stairs.

"I'm fine, Mike! You need to get her out of here!" Steve told him.

"We will, Buddy Boy, we will! Let me see that wound!"

Steve rolled his eyes and removed his hand from his side. "It's just a graze."

"That's more than a graze!" Mike took off his overcoat and wadded it up, just as Steve had done the week before for Amy.

"Well this is ironic or something," he said as Mike held the coat on the wound.

At that moment, two ambulance attendants raced in and started to attend to Amy. "What happened to her?!" one of them said in utter shock.

"I'm not sure. I think she's got broken ribs and internal bleeding. Her wrist must be broken and so is her knee. Other than that…"

Mike noticed that Steve suddenly looked like he was about to cry. "What is it? Is there something else?"

"I think he raped her, Mike," was all he said.

"We'll inform the hospital," the other attendant said and the two began preparing to put Amy on the gurney.

"She'll be okay," Mike said to Steve. "She made it this far. She'll make it the rest of the way." He placed a hand on the side of Steve's face and patted his cheek gently.

Steve then started frantically pointing at Paul's dead body. "Back pants pocket. He's got pictures in there."

Mike, not sure why Steve was telling him this, reached over and checked the dead man's pockets. Sure enough, he pulled out three Polaroids.

"One of them is Jasmine. He said he had her somewhere and if Amy didn't shoot me, he'd kill her! He wouldn't tell me where though!"

Mike looked at the picture of the little girl tied to a chair. "Looks like a hotel room maybe? He didn't say anything else?"

Steve shook his head. "There's a remote over there," he said, pointing to over by the wall. "He blew something up with that, and I'm afraid he's got one for her!"

Bill came over. "So that was what that explosion was!" he said. "A warehouse blew not far from Pier 96. That whole area is a disaster."

"We heard it all the way over here," Steve said. "Check his pockets for another remote!"

Bill leaned over and patted the body down. "Nothing. "I'll grab more guys, check the rest of the house."

As he was about to leave the room, Mike stopped him. "Does this place look familiar to you? I swear I've seen that carpet before!"

Bill looked at the picture. "You're right. Let me think. Isn't it one of those fleabags in the Tenderloin? I know I've arrested guys on that carpet before. Let me ask the others." He took the picture and left the room.

"You have to find her, Mike," Steve said, grabbing Mike's sweater vest. "God...I just handed her to him! I convinced Amy it was the right thing to do…" He looked over at her. She was on the gurney, out cold. "She'll never forgive me. Neither one of them will."

"Yes they will. And we'll find her, I promise. I'm not losing anyone today." He looked over at Paul. "I can't wait to read this report."

"It'll take me a week to write it," Steve said as two more ambulance attendants came in for him.

_**More to come...**_


	45. Chapter 45

_**Thank you for all the reviews about the last chapter! I was afraid it wouldn't be quite the climax everyone had hoped for. We're on the downward slope now, but not quite out of the woods!**_

As Steve's ambulance drove away, Mike stood in the middle of Thomas Avenue and took a deep breath. He felt like he hadn't breathed in hours. However, the nightmare was only half over; he still had a little girl out there.

"Hey, Mike!" Bill shouted, running over to him. "Lee thinks this looks like a place called The Royal Motel."

"Isn't that over off Eddy, close to the 101?"

Bill nodded.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He ran to his car, but not before shouting instructions at half a dozen people. This was his crime scene and it had to be taken care of properly. Then he and Bill winged their way north.

Upon arrival, they were followed into the parking lot by a black and white. Mike jumped out of the car as soon as Bill put it in park and dashed into the lobby. He was greeted at the desk by a slovenly older man smoking a cigar.

"Did you rent a room to a man with a little blonde girl?" he asked, flashing his badge.

"I don't know. I rent to a lot of people. They all look the same," the man said flippantly.

Mike, not in the mood for disrespect, grabbed the man by the lapel and pulled him closer. "You tell me if you rented a room in the last 24 hours to a young man with a blonde child, or I will tear this place apart, and I'm guessing I will find enough violations to shut you down forever. I'll probably arrest most of your clientele as well. You want that?"

The man gulped. "Room 207. Been here since late last night."

Mike let go of the man. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He gave the man a killer glare before running out of the lobby.

He and Bill ran up the stairs to room 207. Bill had his gun drawn in case she wasn't alone. Both men stood off to the side of the door.

"Now remember, there might be a bomb in here," Mike whispered to Bill and the other officers who had joined them. "Do not shoot unless it's absolutely necessary!"

He stood off to the side and knocked lightly on the door. No one answered, so he knocked again. Nothing. He announced himself. Still nothing. He tried the door handle and found it locked. He yelled that whoever inside had five seconds to come out or they were coming in. The door stayed closed, so one of the unis kicked in the door.

The men were greeted with an empty motel room...and the same carpet as in the Polaroid. The bed looked like it had been slept in but no other sign of life existed. The bathroom was empty as well, but Bill found a candy bar wrapper in the trash can. Mike looked around and saw that no one had checked the closet. He walked over there and slowly slid one of the doors to the side. Looking down, he saw Jasmine, shaking in fear, huddled up in the corner.

Mike slowly got down on his knees. "Well, hi there. Do you remember me?" he asked her gently. "I'm a police officer, and I was at your house one day."

Jasmine stared at Mike and said nothing, but then her scared expression started to fade. "You're Steve's friend," she said softly.

"That's right! He sent me here to find you. He was afraid you were hurt or scared."

She nodded. "Is that man coming back?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Mike shook his head. "He'll never hurt you, or Amy, or Steve ever again."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die!" Mike answered, crossing his heart with an x.

Jasmine smiled softly.

Mike offered her his hand. She took it and stood up, letting him lead her out of the closet.

"Did he hurt you?" Mike asked.

She shook her head. "No, not really. He was just scary. He kept telling me if I wasn't good, he'd kill my mommy and daddy...Amy and Steve."

Mike smiled at her calling them mommy and daddy.

She looked up at Mike with her big, blue eyes. "Are they okay? Last night...I called Daddy a liar." She started crying. "I didn't mean it!"

Mike lifted the girl up and gave her a big hug. "Oh, he knows you didn't. He's not mad at you at all! He'll be so glad that you're okay! You don't have to cry!"

"Is that why he sent me away? Does he hate me?"

"Oh, not at all! He felt very bad about having to give you back! He didn't want to do it - he told me so. But sometimes adults have to do things they don't want to because it seems like the right decision at the time. We adults, we have to make a lot of decisions! Sometimes we don't make the right one and then we have to fix it."

"So he doesn't hate me?"

"Not at all! Someone else made him send you away. If not for that, you would have stayed. Oh, Sweetheart, he was so worried about you! That's why he sent me to find you, because he knew I would. He'll be very happy to see you; I just know he will."

As he carried the little girl out of the room, patting her back, he thought back to when Jeannie was Jasmine's age and she'd cry about something. Jeannie would think it was the end of the world, so Mike would hug her just like he was hugging Jasmine and tell her everything was fine. He would then suggest ice cream, which always perked her up. The memory made him smile.

"How would you like some ice cream?" he asked Jasmine.

Jasmine picked up her head off Mike's shoulder. "I'm hungry. He only gave me a candy bar to eat."

"We didn't see any device, Sir," one of the officers told Mike.

"Good! Double check just to make sure. Tell Inspector Tanner I'm going to take her to the hospital to get checked out. If he needs me, he can find me at General."

"Will do," the officer answered, returning to the room.

Turning to Jasmine, Mike said, "Well then let's go get you some ice cream!" before walking her away from the motel.

* * *

Amy and Steve were both in surgery, and Mike decided he couldn't stand to stay there and wait for news, so after getting her looked over by a doctor, Mike took Jasmine to get a hot dog and some ice cream. There, he told her that both Steve and Amy were in the hospital as gently, as in as little detail, as he could. He wasn't at all sure how she took the news, as she stayed quiet about it the entire time he was talking. After eating, Mike took her back to the hospital and found spots to sit in the waiting room. There was a play area, so Jasmine went to keep herself occupied while Mike made phone calls. His first was to Child Welfare, his second to the station for an update.

No remote had been found at the Thomas Avenue house - Paul had been bluffing. An inspector with Missing Persons had contacted Marilyn Riddle's sister to inquire about the Carpenter connection. Turns out Marilyn was dating Calvin Carpenter and had been for two years prior to her disappearance. The sister mentioned Marilyn being afraid of Calvin's son. Mike couldn't imagine why.

He then called St. Francis Medical Center to inquire about Karen's condition. He was informed that she had spent a few hours in surgery, but made it through okay and was currently recovering in ICU. The nurse on the phone also told Mike that her mother and aunt were there. Mike, knowing that Margaret should know about Amy, considered telling the nurse to inform her of Amy's whereabouts, but decided to hold off. He'd send someone over there later.

As he got off the phone, a doctor came into the waiting room.

"Lieutenant?" he asked, approaching Mike.

"Any news?" Mike asked anxiously.

"Inspector Keller came out of surgery just fine. The bullet didn't hit any major arteries or organs, and it stayed intact, so we were able to remove it and get him sewn up. He does have quite a concussion, which we only found because we x-rayed his head after noticing it was bleeding."

Mike rolled his eyes. "That boy…"

"He'll be in recovery for a bit, but once we get him into a room, I'll let you know and you can see him."

Mike smiled. "Great! How about Amy Johnson?"

The doctor's face turned somber. "She's not so lucky. You want the whole laundry list of injuries?"

Mike nodded. He knew Steve would demand to know every last detail.

"Concussion - worse than Steve's, broken left wrist, five broken ribs - one of which punctured a lung and collapsed it, a shattered right patella…"

"Shattered?" Mike had never heard that word used before when discussing bones.

The doctor nodded. "I'm not an orthopedist, but the patella was broken into several pieces, so I'd guess her knee will be put back together with screws and wires. It was an open fracture, so after we're sure we have the lung puncture stabilized, we'll work on getting her knee back together."

Mike sighed. "Anything else?"

"A couple bones in her face are slightly fractured, and she's covered in bruises and lacerations. I don't say this often, but she is beyond lucky to be alive. She must have one incredibly strong will. Oh, and the paramedic said something about her being raped?"

Mike nodded. "That's what Steve thought."

"Well, sadly, he was right. There's a bit of trauma down there too, without getting into too much detail."

Mike rubbed his eyes.

The doctor patted him on the shoulder. "She'll be fine. She'll be with us awhile, and recovery won't be easy, but she'll make it. I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks," Mike said, smiling weakly. He then went and sat down. He sat back and rubbed his face.

Jasmine noticed he didn't look as happy as he had before, so she walked over to the chair next to him and sat down.

"Is everyone okay?" she asked, putting her arm through his.

He turned and looked down at her. "Not as okay as I'd hoped."

Jasmine frowned. "You said both Amy and Steve are back there, right?"

Mike nodded. "Steve's going to be fine though! The doctor said he's resting right now, but we'll be able to see him soon."

"But Amy's not going to be fine? Is she going to the same place my dad is?"

The way she said that, in her small child voice filled with apprehension and sadness, caused Mike to almost lose it. He'd never had to tell a small child something this heavy before, and he wasn't sure what to say. He patted his lap, and Jasmine got up off her chair and sat down.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Six. I'll be seven in October."

"So you're a pretty big girl then! I bet you can handle news that's big, can't you?"

She nodded.

"I just want to say first - that it's okay to cry. Sometimes we hear things that make us sad, but we feel like we can't cry about them. We have to be strong, and strong people don't cry. But that's not true! Even strong people cry!"

She nodded again. "Amy cries a lot."

"And she's a strong woman! So if she can cry, you can too, okay?"

"Okay."

Mike took a deep breath. "Since you're a big, strong girl, I'm not going to lie. Amy is pretty hurt."

"That man hurt her bad?" she asked sadly.

"He did. He was very angry."

"At Amy?"

Mike nodded. "There are some people in this world who are just angry at everyone. Nothing is ever fair and they hate other people because they think those people are making their life bad."

"Michelle."

"Who?"

"Michelle. The mean girl in my class. She's always saying 'It's not fair!' She's hates everyone and everyone hates her."

"So you know what I mean then. Well, this man, the one who took you to that motel...he took his anger out on Amy. She has some broken bones, and some other injuries inside her body. The doctors had to give her surgery."

"Surgery...is that where they cut you open?" Jasmine asked.

Mike nodded. "They do that so they can make you feel better."

"Does she feel better?"

"Not yet, but she will soon. Back there," he said, pointing to a set of doors that led to the emergency room, "are a bunch of doctors and nurses that are doing everything they can to make Amy feel better."

Jasmine sat quietly for a moment, staring off into space. She then asked, "She broke a bone?"

"Yes. Several actually. Her knee and wrist are broken."

"There's another girl at my school who broke her arm falling off the monkey bars. She got a cast that we all wrote our names on. Will Amy get a cast?"

"I bet she does! And you know what? I bet she'll let you write your name on it!" Mike tried to make it sound like fun instead of the tragedy it was.

"But she was hurt worse than that, right?"

Mike slowly nodded. "She'll be in the hospital a long time."

"Most people come to hospitals to die," she said, still staring at nothing.

Mike was surprised to hear her say that. "Who told you that?"

She shrugged. "Probably Mama. She told me a lot of awful things." She then turned her head and looked at Mike. "Is Amy going to die? If she dies, I won't have anyone to live with. That man told me this morning that if Amy didn't do what he wanted her to, he was going to kill her and Steve."

Mike clenched his fists.

"She didn't, did she? She didn't do what he wanted, so he hurt her to kill her. I don't want to live with scary people anymore!" She started crying. "I want to stay with Mommy and Daddy!"

Mike gave her a big hug and let her cry on his chest. "I don't know where you'll end up living, but Amy is not going to die! She has too much to live for! She wants to live for you, I know that! And Steve...she'll live for Steve. She won't leave either one of you."

The two sat quietly for several minutes while Jasmine cried herself to sleep.

Not content to sit and wait for Steve to get out of recovery, and not feeling so emotionally strong himself, he decided to call Arizona and talk to Jeannie. He had a sudden need to hear her voice and know she was okay. With Jasmine still sleeping on his shoulder, he stood up and went to find a phone that would call long distance.

* * *

"But you're both okay?" Jeannie asked for the fourth time, still not convinced everything was fine after listening to her father tell the entire sordid tale.

"We're fine, Sweetheart! You know Steve; he's too stubborn."

Jeannie chuckled. "That's for sure! You sound awfully tired, Mike. You're sure you're going to be okay? I can come to town tomorrow…"

"Don't you have finals coming up?"

"Not for another week and a half!"

"Then you're staying there until they're over! You can come see us afterward."

"But Mike…"

"No buts now!"

Jeannie sighed. "Okay. Steve's girlfriend will likely still be in the hospital I'm guessing."

"Yeah, she'll be here awhile. And if she's here, he will be too."

"What about Jasmine? What will happen to her? That poor girl just lost both her parents, her foster parents are both in the hospital, and she's probably scared to death from being in that awful motel by herself! They can't just stick her in another foster home, can they?"

"I don't know what will happen." He sighed.

"What's on your mind, Mike?"

"Oh, I know she's worried they're both going to die, and I don't think I helped alleviate her anxiety any. I've never had to tell a child something like this before!"

"You haven't, huh? I seem to remember one time when you did!"

"What? When was that?"

"Do you remember my friend from down the street, Donna?"

"That little redhead who always had pigtails?"

"Uh huh. Do you remember when we were seven and her dad was killed in a car accident? I was convinced for days that you and mom were going to die anytime you got in the car! I cried and cried every day when you went to work!"

Mike smiled. "I do remember that. Seemed like no matter what your mother or I told you, you just didn't believe it."

Jasmine picked up her head. "Mike?" she said sleepily.

"Was that her?" Jeannie asked.

"Yeah, she just woke up."

"Who are you talking to?" Jasmine asked.

"My daughter Jeannie."

"Mike, let me talk to her. Maybe I can make her feel better," Jeannie suggested.

Mike turned to Jasmine. "Would you like to talk to her?" he asked.

Jasmine nodded, so Mike put her down and she sat on a chair near the phone. He handed her the receiver just as a lady approached him.

"Lieutenant Stone?" she asked.

Mike nodded.

"Lois McFadden with Child Welfare," she said, extending her hand.

Mike shook it. "They sent someone down here quick!"

Lois smiled. "I've been at the office since my boss told me about his conversation with you last night." She shook her head in dismay. "I couldn't believe something like that happened! I've been worried sick all day. I told Sylvia where Jasmine was! And now Sylvia is missing...what a mess."

"Missing?"

"Yeah. No one has heard from her since last night. I fear that crazy man did something to her as well. I am just so relieved that Jasmine is okay though!" She turned and looked at the girl talking away on the phone. "She is okay, isn't she?"

"As much as you can be when the two people you've convinced yourself are your parents are both in the ER and you spent the night with the lunatic who put them there. It will be a long recovery emotionally I'm afraid."

"Poor thing."

"Are you here to take her? Steve is supposed to be getting out of recovery soon, and I think she should see him."

"I am. My boss suggested she stay with me until her aunt comes for her."

Mike was blindsided. "Her aunt? I thought she didn't have any family."

"This morning, her great aunt in Arizona called us back and said she'd be glad to take Jasmine."

"Arizona? You're shipping her off to Arizona? That's going to kill her! I'm pretty sure she's convinced that she'll be living with Amy and Steve. She already calls them Mommy and Daddy!"

Lois acted like she didn't know what to say. "I wish I could say that we could get that done, but the courts...this aunt is wealthy, married, older...not in the hospital. And she's family."

Mike angrily shook his head. "So is Amy! Maybe not by blood, but that's not the only thing that makes a family! I fight every day for the law….but this time it's wrong. It's just wrong!"

He looked over at Jasmine, who was now laughing and smiling. Whatever Jeannie was saying was helping.

"There you are, Lieutenant," the doctor who had talked with him earlier said as he walked down the hallway. "Inspector Keller has been moved to a room. He's on the 4th floor, room 416. You're welcome to go up any time."

Mike shook the doctor's hand and thanked him. He then walked over to Jasmine and told her they could go see Steve.

"I can go see Daddy now!" Jasmine said happily.

"That's great!" Jeannie told her. "Give him a kiss for me, okay? And remember to smile, because everything will be okay!"

"Thanks, Jeannie. If you come home, you can play Royal Tea Party with me and Mommy."

"That sounds like a lot of fun! Let me talk to Mike."

Jasmine handed the phone to Mike.

"Well aren't you the little miracle worker? What did you say to her?" Mike asked his daughter.

"Magicians never reveal their secrets! You go see Stubborn Steve, and call me tomorrow and let me know how everyone is, okay!"

"I will, Sweetheart. Thanks for listening to me."

"Anytime, Mike. Love you!"

"Love you too," he said hanging up.

Jasmine pulled on his pant leg. "Can we go now?"

Mike looked down at her and felt very sad. He knew the newly found smile on her face would fade as quickly as it had come. "Yeah, let's go."


	46. Chapter 46

On the way to the fourth floor, Mike asked Lois if Jasmine knew about her aunt in Arizona wanting to take her.

"No. We haven't discussed that," she said quietly. She didn't want Jasmine, who had run ahead of the two, to hear.

"Well don't tell her until we're positive," Mike said, almost scolding the social worker. "When will a final decision be made? I mean, will Amy and Steve get a chance to even throw their hat in the ring?"

"We're discussing it with a judge either tomorrow or Friday, but to be honest, with the circumstances the way they are? I doubt it," she said with a twinge of sadness. "Believe me, I am on their side. I just learned a long time ago not to get your hopes up."

Mike shook his head. "Nothing like kicking someone when they're down."

"Hey, Mike, what number was it?" Jasmine asked, looking at the numbers placards on the walls next to the rooms.

"416. 4-1-6."

A few seconds later, she found it and ran back to Mike, grabbing his hand and attempting to pull him along.

Mike decided he better talk to Steve first before springing Jasmine on him, so he suggested Lois take her to the gift shop and have her buy something for him. Jasmine loved the idea, so Mike gave her some money, and the two ladies went back down to the first floor.

Mike knocked on the door to room 416 and entered. Once inside, he saw his partner sitting up in the bed, his head laying on an ice pack, grumbling about the IVs and monitors attached to his arm.

Steve turned to see who was visiting him. "Is all this really necessary?" he griped.

"If you don't want to stay here any longer than you have to it is. Although once you get out, I should put you right back in for that stunt you pulled!"

Steve winced. "I knew that was coming." He took a deep breath. "Go ahead, give me your worst."

Mike took a seat next to Steve's bed. "First of all, I told you to stay put, which you didn't! Second, you know better than to go into a situation like that by yourself! You're not a rookie! What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I swear on a stack of Bibles that reaches to the sky, the radio was broken. I tried calling. I tried twice! Check the car!"

"Oh, I already have the garage on that!"

"And be honest. You know damn well what I was thinking! I couldn't sit there and wonder if anyone heard me or not while Amy was in there dying! I'd do the same thing again if I had to, right or wrong! Suspend me, fire me...I don't care! I couldn't take that chance, Mike." He suddenly got quiet. "I just couldn't." He looked down at his lap. He felt like crying and didn't want to in front of his partner.

Mike leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I want to be mad at you. I really do! What you did was reckless! You could have gotten both of you killed!" He paused. "But I know you know that. You're _not_ some rookie. I don't have to tell you about the dangers of doing what you did. I guess I want to be mad because you scared the life out of me!"

"But…?"

"I can't. I can't because I know why you did it. And I would challenge anyone else to not do the same thing!"

Steve looked him in disbelief. "Really?"

"Really. Given the situation - the broken radio, the imminent danger - I would have done the same thing. I suppose sometimes we get a little cocky and assume we're smarter than the perp because we have training and a gun, and sometimes we're right...but sometimes we're wrong."

"And you would have been just as wrong as I was."

"Yes I would have...but I still would have done it, girlfriend or not. He'd had her too long by then. The shape she's in...it was a good call...in hindsight."

Steve gave Mike a slight smile. "Thanks."

"I can't guarantee Olsen or Devitt will feel the same way...but if my word means anything, I'll go to bat for you."

Steve widened his smile. "I may owe you a lot for that!"

"You may!" Mike agreed. "How do you feel?"

"Groggy….a bit nauseous. Ask me again when the pain meds wear off." He looked Mike in the eyes. "Do I want to know how she is?"

Mike paused. "Probably not, but she's not dead, so don't feel too terrible yet. She's still in surgery."

Steve closed his eyes. "I can take it."

"Concussion - something you have in common - broken wrist, five broken ribs, punctured lung, shattered patella, fractured facial bones, more bruises and lacerations than they could count, and…"

Steve didn't like Mike's pause. "And what, Mike?"

"You were right; she was raped...apparently pretty violently."

Steve rubbed his face with his hands. "If I hadn't already killed him, I'd kill him. Do you know when I can see her?"

"The doctor told me they'd have to repair her knee once they got her lung fixed...I'm sure she'll be in ICU the rest of the day. Don't worry; I'll keep up on it."

"How about Karen?" Steve asked, his face still in his hands.

"I don't know specifics because they wouldn't tell me over the phone, but it doesn't sound much better. They did tell me her mom was there though. As was Margaret, but I didn't tell them to tell her about Amy yet."

"Can we just not? Amy won't want to see her anyway." Steve finally took his hands off his face and took a deep breath.

Mike could tell his eyes were red and that he was fighting off tears. "She won't?"

Steve shook his head. "First she said the whole thing was her mother's fault, but she didn't tell me why. She flat out told Paul she hated the woman, probably because Margaret wanted Amy to be with Paul more than anything. Then she was pissed because Paul used her mother's maiden name on the house. I don't even want to know what kind of relationship those two had."

"That was some good thinking though - checking her name with property records."

"I did one thing right."

"Well, she'll have to find out eventually. We'll play it by ear from there I guess. Who knows what Amy will even remember of the ordeal."

"I pray very little," Steve said sadly.

"Me too, Buddy Boy. Me too."

The two sat in silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say. Mike could tell Steve was trying extremely hard not to become emotional.

"You know, I gave someone a piece of advice a little while ago that might serve you as well," he said.

Steve, who'd been laying with his eyes closed, opened them and turned to Mike. "What's that?"

"That it's okay to cry. I could tell that this girl was trying to be brave for strangers, so I told her that sometimes we hear things that make us sad, and we feel like we can't cry about it. We think we have to be strong and strong people don't cry. I told her even the strongest of people cry!"

"That's good advice, Mike, but how does it help me? I'm fine."

Mike just looked at him.

"I'm fine!" Steve insisted.

"Oh, I can see that," Mike said sarcastically.

Steve turned his head and looked at the wall in front of him and said nothing. "Who'd you give that advice to anyway?" he asked after a few minutes, uncomfortable with the silence.

"A little girl who was worried about her parents. They were both in surgery and she was scared of losing them. She asked me how they were, and I could tell she was putting on this brave front. I reminded her that it's okay to be sad."

"You often give advice to random children in waiting rooms?"

"I do when they're asking about you."

Steve paused for a moment, then slowly turned his head back in Mike's direction. "You...you found her?"

Mike simply nodded.

"God Mike...you actually found her?" Steve said. Mike could tell he was more than relieved. "Is she okay?"

"Outwardly. They checked her out downstairs and said she was medically well. Emotionally though...I'm not a child psychologist or anything, but I don't think she'll be totally fine for quite a while."

"What he'd do to her?" Steve asked angrily. His heart monitor started beeping more rapidly.

"Whoa, calm down! I said she was fine, didn't I? I don't think he even touched her, but he did leave her alone in a seedy motel all day with nothing to eat but a candy bar. He also left her with the promise that if she or Amy didn't do what he wanted, he'd kill you and Amy. She thinks that's why Amy is dying. I tried talking to her, but...well, she only became happy again after Jeannie said something to her! Of course, she won't tell me what."

"You had Jeannie talk to her? Smart move, Dad."

"Our kids are always smarter than us! It just isn't something she'll get over soon, that's all. She didn't tell me any details of her time in that room; I didn't really want to put her through that and add to her worry. She was relieved that she could see you though."

"So where is she?"

"In the gift shop with the social worker. I do have to warn you though - she may be a little upset."

"About what?" Steve asked.

"She seemed to feel pretty bad about calling you a liar last night."

"Ohhh. Yeah. I'd promised her that she'd never have to see her mother again, and then what do I do? Hand her over to a madman. Great parent I am. She _should_ be mad at me." Steve looked down at his lap.

"Now don't beat yourself up! Again, I probably would have done the same thing! Your instincts told you it was official, so you did what you thought you had to. Fortunately, it worked out alright in the end...I guess."

"Did it? I scarred a poor six year old for life! I made her go through something that will haunt her for years! I'm sure she hates me."

"Now I know that's not true! If she hated you, she wouldn't have dragged me down the hall to see you! Get that thought out of your head right now!" Mike scolded.

Someone knocked at the door.

"You ready for visitors?" Mike asked, standing up.

Steve nodded and told the visitor to come in.

Slowly, Jasmine came in and peeked her head around the corner. Lois was standing behind her. Jasmine looked up at Steve with a frightened expression on her face.

"Hey, Princess," Steve said softly.

"Hey," Jasmine said, suddenly becoming shy.

"You can come a little closer, you know."

She walked further into the room, but not completely over to the bed.

"I heard you had a pretty bad day," Steve said, trying to start a dialogue.

Jasmine simply nodded, but Steve could tell she was fighting off tears.

"You know what? I have a ton of phone calls to make, and now seems like a good time. Ms. McFadden, I'd also like to have a word with you if that would be alright?" Mike said, trying to leave Steve and Jasmine alone.

Lois nodded and handed Jasmine a gift bag.

Mike walked over to Jasmine and lifted her up to the bed, setting her down next to Steve on his uninjured right side. "I'll go see if there is any word on the other patient."

"Thanks, Mike...for everything," Steve said.

Mike just smiled and walked out the door.

Steve looked at the little girl sitting next to him. She was staring at her lap while holding the gift bag.

"Are you still mad at me?" Steve asked her.

She shook her head and stayed staring at her lap.

"That's good. You know, I really didn't want you to leave."

"Mike told me that," she said quietly. "He told me that someone made you do it."

"He's right. If I would have known what was going to happen, I never would have let you go. I feel terrible about it."

Tears started forming in the corners of his eyes, so he quickly wiped them away with his hand, not wanting to cry in front of a six year old.

The tears didn't go unnoticed. Jasmine turned her head and looked up at Steve. "Are you sad?" she asked.

He quickly shook his head. "No, I'm happy that you're okay! I was really worried when I found out what happened after you left my apartment."

She grinned. "Mike said you would be happy to see me. I wasn't sure."

Steve chuckled. "Mike's a pretty smart guy. Why weren't you sure I'd be happy to see you?"

She looked back down at her lap. "Because I called you a liar."

Steve put his arm around her. "I deserved that. I made a promise to you, and then I broke it. I wanted you to feel safe, and then I hand you to people who hurt you."

Jasmine looked back up at him. "He didn't hurt me. He scared me a lot, but he didn't hurt me. Did he hurt you?"

Steve nodded. "A little. He hit me on the back of the head pretty hard."

She stuck out her bottom lip. "Does it hurt bad?"

He nodded. "It does. They had to put stitches in my head!"

"I've had those. I got them when I got my appendix taken out!" she said proudly as if she were glad to have something in common with Steve. Her mood quickly went back to somber though. "I bet Amy has stitches too. Mike said the man hurt her bad."

"He did," Steve said almost in a whisper.

"Mike said that the man who had me was very mad at Amy, and that's why he hurt her. Then he said the doctors were giving her surgery to make her feel better. Will they make her feel better?" she asked, laying her head against Steve's side.

"I sure hope so, Princess. I sure hope so," was all he could say before his emotions once again threatened to make him cry.

"Mike said that she wants to live for you and me, so she won't die. I don't want her to go!" Jasmine said, letting her tears fall freely.

Between her tears and his own sadness, Steve couldn't fight it any longer. "Come here," he told Jasmine. She turned around and the two sat together on the bed, hugging and crying on each other's shoulders.

"Amy is a very brave girl," he said after a few minutes. "She knows how much we love her and need her, so she's going to fight to get better...I know she will."

"Is this all my fault?"

"Absolutely not!" Steve said, almost the second she quit talking. "You did nothing wrong! Paul...he was sick. He had something that no doctors could even cure. Nothing that you or Amy did could have changed what happened. He was going to do what he did no matter what. So don't think you had anything to do with this, okay?"

"My other mom...she used to blame me for things a lot," Jasmine told Steve sadly. "It was my fault when she hit me."

Steve couldn't help but get angry, and the increased speed of the heart monitor beeping showed it. He could not understand how someone could blame a child for their own failings in life. The thought made him sick.

"Princess," he said through tears. "What she did to you was not your fault at all, okay? Your mom was sick, like Paul, which is why you'll never have to see her again. She was a very unhappy person, and instead of fixing what was making her unhappy, she made you feel as bad as her. She shouldn't have done that, which is why Amy tried to stop her."

"Amy never hit me. She said hitting people was wrong."

"It is. It's very wrong. You did nothing to deserve the way your mom treated you, which is why you'll get a new mom. And then hopefully you'll stop thinking everything is your fault, because when adults choose to do bad things, it is never your fault, you got that?"

Jasmine nodded. "Do I get to come back and live with you guys? I want to stay with you! I want you to be my mommy and daddy!" Her crying increased.

Steve didn't know what to say. He didn't think she had anywhere else to go, so the situation was likely, but then there had been a lot about this entire tragedy that he hadn't banked on. "I don't know. I hope so...but we'll have to wait until Amy gets better, okay? Can you wait for me?"

"Okay."

"Good." Steve paused and tried to calm her down by gently rubbing her back. After he could tell her breathing was back to normal, he asked, "You want to tell me what happened after you left last night?" He was worried about the fact that Mike was so concerned about her emotional health.

"You'll get mad at me."

Steve pulled her away from him and looked at her. "Now why would I be mad?"

Jasmine shrugged.

"I don't know either. You're here, and you're okay, and that's all that matters. If you said or did something to him that would normally be wrong...I don't care! He deserved it! I won't be mad at all!"

Jasmine turned so she was sitting facing Steve. As she spoke, she looked down at the bed. She hesitated at first, so Steve took her hand.

"After I left, that lady drove to this parking lot. It was really dark. The guy who took me…" She looked up at Steve. "What is his name? He wouldn't tell me."

"Paul."

"Paul was there waiting. I sat in his car while he and the lady talked. They started yelling at each other. It was kind of scary, so I hid my head. I heard this loud pop sound, and then Paul got in the car and we drove off."

Being a cop, Steve could only assume that pop sound was a gunshot. He wondered if Mike knew there was possibly a dead social worker in a parking lot somewhere.

"We went to the motel and he told me we were staying there for the night. He made me go to bed right away. I threw a fit because I wanted to go back home, and he told me if I didn't shut up, he'd hurt you and Mommy. I didn't even know he knew you! So I went to bed, because he scared me. Then in the morning, he woke me up, handed me a candy bar, and told me if Amy didn't do what he wanted her to, I'd never see her again. Then he left me alone all day."

"I bet you were pretty scared."

Jasmine nodded. "Then when Mike and his friends came, I thought it was Paul coming back, so I hid in the closet."

"That was very smart! You are a very brave girl...just like your mommy." Steve smiled at her.

She smiled back. "You think I'm like Amy?"

"I do! When we tell her, she'll say the same thing; she'll be very proud of you." Steve looked over at the gift bag that was sitting on the bed. "What'd you bring me?"

Jasmine looked at the bag. "Mike gave me money to buy something at the gift shop." She grabbed it and handed it to Steve. "Lois said that it's nice to buy people who are in the hospital a get well gift. It makes them feel better."

"I like gifts." He opened the bag and pulled out two little teddy bears, one pink and one blue.

"Amy gave me Mr. Sniffles when I was sick, and he made me feel better, so I bought you a friend. You get the blue one."

"Aww...thank you," he said. Then he motioned for her to give him a hug. She did and he kissed her on the cheek.

"This will make me feel better. Is the pink one for Amy?"

She nodded.

"What are their names?"

Jasmine, with her arms around Steve's neck, looked at the bears. "Hmm. I know...we can call them Prince Stefan and Princess Amelia."

"Prince Stefan and Princess Amelia?"

"Yeah, like from your story. Prince Stefan killed the wolf and made Amelia feel better, right? So they'll make you and Mommy feel better."

Steve smiled. "Those names are perfect. The blue one is Princess Amelia, right?"

Jasmine laughed. "No, Silly!" She pointed to the blue one. "This one is you, and that one is Mommy," she said, pointing to the pink one. Then she looked at Steve. "Because the story was about you." Then she laughed again.

"Oh really? Well aren't you smart?" he told her before he started tickling her sides.


	47. Chapter 47

_**This was originally going to be part of last chapter, but it got too long, so I split it up. Appreciate the nice reviews over the last few chapters! :D**_

A couple hours later, Mike walked in to find Steve watching TV with a sleeping child curled up at his side.

Steve put his left index finger up to his lips to tell Mike to come in quietly.

"You should be doing that too, Buddy Boy," Mike told him, walking over to the bed. "The more you rest in here, the better you'll feel when they let you out."

"I can't."

Mike gave him a scolding look.

"Honestly, Mike, I tried. I feel exhausted, but I can't keep my eyes closed. The nurse said that can happen with concussions. Plus, I can't shut off my mind."

Mike pulled up a chair and sat by Steve's bed. "Understandable. Though I see you've had time to practice your coloring," he said, pointing to the rolling table that was over the bed. On it laid several papers and a box of crayons.

"I'm pretty good, aren't I?" Steve said.

"You are! But isn't it about time you graduated from stick figures? You're a grown man, for goodness sake," Mike teased.

"Are you telling me that's not how people look?"

Mike looked Steve up and down. "Well, not normal people, although you're skinny enough that maybe you are a stick person."

Steve groaned. "If I weren't so tired, I'd slap you. How's Amy? Is she out of surgery?"

Mike nodded. "She came through fine. They weren't able to reinflate her lung without surgery, but that went off without a hitch. She has a chest tube as well."

Steve sighed.

Mike gave him a curious look.

"More scars. She had a nervous breakdown over the one she got when she was shot. This won't go over well either. It'll be a constant reminder of Paul," he said, shaking his head.

Mike could tell that bothered Steve immensely. He reached over and patted his partner's arm. "She'll get through it. She has you to lean on."

"Thanks," Steve said quietly. "What about her knee? Didn't you use the word shattered? How the hell do you fix a shattered kneecap?"

"I wondered that same thing actually. They go in and see how many pieces it was broken in to. If it's more than two, they'll see if they can save any of the fragments; if any are too small, they take those out. Then they put the rest back together with wires and screws, and they sew you back up."

Steve cringed. "Let me guess. He broke hers into a million pieces."

"Not quite, but it was several according to the orthopedic surgeon. He said she'll be in a cast for several weeks, then they'll give her a removable brace while she's in rehab...basically learning how to use her leg all over again."

Steve shook his head. "He wanted her to suffer, even long after he was gone. He succeeded, didn't he?" A few tears began escaping his eyes.

"Now, don't think of it that way; that just means he won! Don't give him that satisfaction, even if he is dead."

"How else am I supposed to look at it?"

Mike shrugged. "I don't really know. It's another hurdle in life. We all have them eventually. It will be a good test for the strength of your relationship though. If the two of you can put the tragedy that brought you together behind you, you'll be stronger than ever."

Steve thought it over for a moment. "She may not see it that way...but you are right. If we can survive the worst, we can survive anything. When can I see her?"

"Not until at least tomorrow. She's still in ICU." Mike started to say something else, but stopped.

'What is it, Mike?" Steve asked.

"Hmm?"

"You were going to say something else."

Mike shook his head. "No I wasn't."

Steve just gave him a look, not dissimilar to the ones Mike gave him when he didn't want to say something.

Mike sighed. "Her mother is here...and already causing trouble."

"Oh, great. I'll never see Amy again!" Steve looked like he was about to cry again, a reaction Mike found abnormal for the man in this case. He wondered if it was the stress of the situation, or if Steve's injuries were causing him to be more emotional than normal.

"Yes you will. Amy won't be unconscious forever, and like you said, she won't want to see her mother anyway - she'll want to see you. I can say that with a hundred percent certainty."

"How's she causing trouble?"

"The doctors won't let her in the ICU room. She was throwing a fit about it and had to have a security guard take her back downstairs. Karen's mother was with her and trying to get Margaret to calm down, but she wasn't listening."

Steve shook his head.

"Now don't you worry about it. I'll take care of her. That's the nice thing about having you guys here at General - I know a lot of the doctors. They won't want her around any more than you do."

Steve smirked. "Using the badge to your advantage, huh?"

"If I have to...yes."

"Thanks, Mike. You were gone an awful long time. What were you doing?"

"I do have a job you know!"

Steve laughed, then winced as it made his head hurt.

"I had to wrap up the mess you made for starters," Mike said, teasing Steve.

"I know, I know. Well, don't worry. If I still have a job, I'll be on desk duty for a while. I'll get a lot of typing practice in, but no chances to ruin investigations."

"Ohhh…." Mike grumbled. "I also went to St. Francis to see if anyone would talk to me in person."

"Is that how Margaret found out?"

"I talked to Karen's mother Kaye. She probably told her sister. She did tell me that Karen was resting comfortably. She suffered many of the same kinds of injuries Amy did. Broken right arm, bruised face, concussion, broken ribs and a punctured lung, broken right leg, a gash to her neck, and of course that knife wound. The knife did knick an artery."

Mike chuckled. "The doctor here used the phrase 'lucky to be alive' when he was telling me about Amy. The doctors over there said the same thing about Karen."

"Suffered all that just to keep Amy safe. Poor girl. Those two are going to be in therapy forever." Steve sighed. "I wish I didn't feel guilty about it."

"You mean about the Milani stakeout? You're not still dwelling on that, are you?"

"No, not really. More just about putting Amy into that situation. If Paul hadn't hated me so much…"

"That lunatic would have gone after Amy regardless if you were in the picture or not. If it wasn't you who made him snap, it would have been someone else. He was going to snap eventually. I'm sure if Amy felt any ill-will toward you, it disappeared once you saved her from him. If you hadn't gotten there when you did, she might have died. They told me if she had gone without treatment much longer, her chances of survival would have been less than ten percent."

"I'll keep telling myself that as I lay awake." Steve turned and looked at a still sleeping Jasmine. He brushed some hair away from her face.

"How can you feel guilty when you gave her a mother back? You were the one who convinced Amy that something else was going on here, which eventually led to Janice Duncan being put behind bars where she belongs. The way I look at it, you saved not only Amy, but Jasmine as well. Now she doesn't have to live in that awful house anymore."

Steve smiled. "I guess if you look at it that way…"

"Every now and then, a rainbow breaks out in the middle of a storm." Mike smiled, looking at the little girl, but then his thoughts turned.

Steve noticed his change in expression. "What's up, Mike? Is there something else?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe. I'm hoping not."

"Could you be a little more vague?" Steve asked.

"Did Lois McFadden tell you that she had no family?"

"She said that most of her family didn't want her, but there were a couple people she hadn't heard from. She didn't seem to hold out a lot of hope, which is fine with...me…" Steve suddenly grew suspicious...and angry.

"Don't you tell me that one of them is taking her!"

Mike was a bit worried at Steve's sudden rise to anger.

"Her great aunt in Arizona called and said she would. The judge is reviewing the case sometime in the next couple days, but…"

"But what, Mike? They can't possibly think that's a good idea!"

"Steve, you need to look at the facts in this case. You and Amy - you're not married, you're both in the hospital right now, and Amy will be for a while, which is bad since she'd be the actual foster parent...this woman is a blood relative and apparently well-off…"

"So?" Steve blurted out. "Why the hell does all that matter? Arizona? She can't move to Arizona! I won't let them!"

Mike was starting to believe that Steve's concussion _had_ caused him more than just physical pain. "Come on now. You know you can't just snap your fingers and make it so."

"Why don't they just go to the ICU right now and kill Amy? It'll save time!"

Mike stood up. "You need to calm down!" he yelled as quietly as he could. "You are blowing this way out of proportion! I talked with everyone I knew in family courts and told them the situation. They agreed - it doesn't look good - but they'd see what they could do. Don't go counting your chickens before they hatch!"

Steve suddenly looked like a little boy who'd been scolded by his father. He was again on the verge of tears.

Jasmine stirred. "Daddy?" she said in a tiny, tired voice.

"I'm right here, Princess," Steve said, leaning over to her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Are you okay? Who are you yelling at?"

"See? You woke her up!" Mike scolded.

Jasmine rolled over and looked at Mike. "Hi, Mike," she said. "Are you guys mad at each other?"

Mike shook his head. "No, we were just talking about something. I guess we got a little too loud."

"Sorry we woke you up," Steve said, putting his arm around her. "Go back to sleep. Mike and I will be quiet."

Jasmine sat up. "That's okay." She reached over to the table and grabbed one of the pictures. "I drew you a picture, Mike!" She handed him a sheet of paper.

Mike took the picture from her and looked at it.

"It's you and Jeannie and your house," she told him. "Daddy told me what Jeannie looks like. I've never seen your house, but I like drawing houses."

"It looks just like my house! And Steve told you exactly what Jeannie looks like. I love this!"

Jasmine smiled and grabbed another sheet. "I also made one of all of us."

Mike leaned over and looked at the drawing.

"This is me, Mommy, Daddy, Jeannie, and you," she explained, pointing to each stick person. "It's everyone in my new family!"

Mike could tell how proud she was of this fact, and it broke his heart.

"See, Steve is Daddy, and Amy is Mommy...so Jeannie will be Aunt Jeannie, and you can be Grandpa!"

Steve grinned. "Grandpa Mike...that has a nice ring to it!" he said, patting his partner on the arm.

"Grandpa, huh? I'm not that old...yet," Mike said, feigning hurt feelings. "But you're right...it does have a nice ring to it." He paused. "What would your other grandparents say though?" he asked Jasmine.

"I don't have any others," she said in a very straightforward manner. "Do you think Daddy needs more hair?" she then asked, grabbing a brown crayon. "He has a lot of hair."

Mike laughed and tousled Steve's hair. "Yes he does!"

"Hey, watch it!" Steve said, running his own fingers through it to fix it.

"You don't have any other grandpas or grandmas?" Mike asked again, trying to steer the conversation back to Jasmine's family.

"Yeah, but they're all mean. I've only seen them a couple times," she answered, concentrating more on giving Steve more hair.

"Ohh. Do you have any family in Arizona that you've met?"

Steve gave Mike a curious look. "What's with the twenty questions?"

Mike just shook his head.

"Arizona? That's where Jeannie lives, isn't it? That's what she told me."

Mike nodded. "That's right. Do you know anyone else who lives there? Anyone named Beatrice?"

Jasmine laughed. "That's a funny name."

"I'd take that as a no if I were you," Steve said, annoyance in his voice. "Are you talking about her…"

Mike quickly slapped his hand over Steve's mouth. "Not now."

Just then, someone knocked at the door, and Steve told them to come in. Lois walked in.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Hello, Jasmine," she said sweetly.

Jasmine didn't return the sentiment. "Hi, Ms. McFadden," she said as if Lois were the last person on the planet she wanted to see.

"Are you ready to go, Sweetheart?" she asked.

"Go? Go where?" Steve asked, looking to Mike for answers.

"I don't want to go," Jasmine said, continuing to color. "I'm staying here with Daddy and Grandpa."

"Now Jasmine, we talked about this…" Lois started.

"But that was before when Daddy was feeling bad. He feels fine now, and I'm not leaving. He needs me to take care of him."

Steve, who had his arm around her, tightened his grip. "Where exactly are you trying to take her?"

Lois looked to Mike, thinking he should tell Steve the plan as Steve looked quite agitated.

"Ms. McFadden is going to take Jasmine to her house. She'll stay there until...well, until the Arizona decision."

Steve gave Mike a look that was full of anger, sadness, and desperation. "After everything she's been through...after what I went through last night...you all have the nerve to take her away again?"

The heart monitor started beeping rapidly, so Mike jumped in.

"Steve, take a deep breath. Jasmine, would you do Grandpa a favor?"

Jasmine looked at him, unsure if she was going to like this.

"I want you to go out in the hall with Ms. McFadden for a couple minutes, okay?"

"I don't want to leave!" she shouted. She then angrily broke the crayon that was in her hand.

"Princess, you're not leaving for good. Grandpa just wants to talk to me, okay? You'll be back," Steve said, much more calmly than before.

Jasmine sat for a moment, unsure what to believe, but she eventually let Mike take her off the bed. She sulked out into the hall.

After she and Lois were gone, Mike looked Steve straight in the eyes. "Tonight is not last night, are we clear? You are not sending her into a pit of lions! She's just going to Lois' house to stay instead of another foster home."

"She spent yesterday hiding in the corner of a room because she was scared at the first home. She came home with Amy and me and she became her usual self - because she felt safe. Then she spends the next almost twenty-four hours in a shitty motel room with a lunatic, scared that Amy or I were going to die. Now she gets to spend the night with another stranger in another strange place? Does no one care about her mental well-being? You cannot take her away from me!" Steve started crying.

"Now stop! You're being ridiculous! I'm starting to wonder about your mental well-being. I don't disagree that it would be best for Jasmine to be around familiar faces, but she can't stay here with you! You can't take care of her while you're nursing a gunshot wound and a concussion. You're barely holding yourself together!"

Steve sat in silence, his face buried in his hands.

"You need rest. You're worried sick about Amy...and now you're worried about Jasmine. You need to worry about you for a bit, or those two won't have you around to worry about them! They're depending on you...as much as you depend on them. Even superheroes take time to rest."

Steve attempted a chuckle.

"I had an idea earlier...I think I'll run it by Lois."

"What was that?" Steve asked, still not looking at Mike.

"I thought Jasmine could come stay with me. In the morning, I could bring her here to spend time with you. If Amy's awake, we can take her to see her as well. That way, she'd be with familiar people."

Steve lowered his hand and looked at Mike. "She does consider you her grandfather now."

"And don't kids spend nights with their grandparents? I know I did."

"You think she'll be okay with that?" Steve asked, pointing toward the door.

"If not, I'll go over her head. Her boss and I are friends, remember?" Mike grinned. "Would this make you feel better?"

Steve nodded, so Mike went out to the hallway, grabbed Jasmine, brought her back into the room, and plopped her back on the bed. He then went back into the hallway to speak with Lois.

He explained the situation to her, and while she was highly hesitant at first, she did agree that Jasmine should be with familiar people.

"But really, how familiar are any of you to her? Isn't Amy the only one she really knows, or am I missing something here?" Lois asked. "I was under the impression that she'd just met the both of you."

"Well, now, we're more familiar to her than you, aren't we?" Mike offered as a rebuttal.

Lois just kind of shrugged.

"It is kind of a unique situation, admittedly. They've all kind of gone from zero to sixty in two seconds. A week ago, Steve and Jasmine didn't even know each other, but if that little girl has managed to wrap him around her finger so quickly, who are we to question? After all, this is about the child's well-being more than anything, no?"

Lois nodded. "It would be hypocritical of me to think otherwise."

"I am a little biased. I'm worried about that boy as much as he's worried about Amy and Jasmine, and I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure he's okay. I know that it will do him a world of good to have that little girl around. She's his connection to Amy. If she puts his mind at ease...then I'll fight to keep her with us."

Lois smiled. "Everyone needs a friend like you in their life. Since you were instrumental in getting the whole mess out in the open anyway...I doubt my boss would have a problem with it. She could certainly be in less safe, loving homes. I'll run it by him."

Mike smiled. "Thank you," he said, shaking her hand as she took her leave.

He walked back into the room and found Jasmine, with her arms wrapped around Steve, watching TV.

Steve looked over at him. "So?"

"It's a go."

"I'm going to stay with you?" Jasmine asked.

"If that's okay with you! You know, I bet I still have a bunch of Jeannie's old toys and games in the attic. Helen kept all that stuff. You'd get to stay in Jeannie's room, too."

Jasmine nodded. "Okay. But who's going to take care of Daddy?"

"I'm sure a nice, pretty nurse will make sure Daddy is okay for tonight," Mike said, winking at his partner.

Steve shook his head. "I"ve moved on from that."

Mike smiled. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Do you approve?"

"It's a good look on you." Mike then turned his attention to Jasmine. "Are you ready to go?"

She yawned. "I guess." She maneuvered to get up, but she turned around and gave Steve a giant hug.

Steve returned the affection. "I'll see you in the morning, okay, Princess? Be good for Grandpa and get some sleep."

"Can we see Mommy tomorrow?"

"I sure hope so." Steve felt like crying for the tenth time that day. He now felt like he understood Amy and her constant crying.

"I miss her."

Steve held in his breath. "So do I." He turned his head and kissed Jasmine on the cheek. "Go have fun with Grandpa."

Jasmine let go and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Night, Daddy." She turned to Mike. "Can we have scrambled eggs for breakfast?"

Mike picked her up off the bed. "Anything you want." He looked at Steve. "Try to sleep. I don't think I can take much more of this crying," he teased.

Steve chuckled as Mike and Jasmine headed out the door. Once they were gone, and he was sure he was completely alone, he let his anxieties and exhaustion take over...and he cried.


	48. Chapter 48

Mike walked into Steve's room the next morning carrying Jasmine in one arm and a suitcase in the other. They found him lying with his eyes closed.

"Is he sleeping?" Jasmine whispered.

"No, he's not sleeping," Steve whispered back.

Jasmine giggled. Mike set down the suitcase and walked her over to Steve's bed.

Steve opened his eyes. "Morning you two."

"Good morning to you," Mike said, setting Jasmine on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Eh. I'm getting sick of this IV in my arm but thankful for the pain meds."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

Steve shook his head. "I still feel kind of nauseous. I managed to eat some toast."

"What does nauseous mean?" Jasmine asked.

"It means I feel sick to my stomach," Steve said, running his right hand through her hair. "How was your night at Grandpa's house?"

"Fun! He got some of Jeannie's toys out of the attic for me, and I played with them this morning. Then he made me scrambled eggs."

"Well, you may not want to come back to my house," Steve said. "Did you sleep?"

Jasmine nodded.

"Fell asleep the instant I put her in the bed," Mike added.

"Good," Steve said as Jasmine leaned over and put her head against Steve's chest.

"Did you?" Mike asked.

"I tried. It's kind of hard when your mind is racing. I can't lay here not knowing where Amy is or how she is. I just keep running all these scenarios through my mind…"

"Don't go there. I'm sure she's fine. In fact, one of the things on my to-do list is go downstairs and see how she is. I'm hoping she's out of ICU." He looked over at Jasmine, who seemed to be falling asleep again. "I think I'll just go take care of that now. You guys be okay?"

Steve looked down at Jasmine, whose head was slowly falling. "I guess someone is still sleepy. We'll be fine. Go tell her I'm thinking about her."

"I think she knows," Mike said before he turned and left the room.

* * *

"She hasn't woken up much, but she's doing well, considering going through two major surgeries in one day," Dr. Conrad told Mike as the two walked down the hall to Amy's room. She had been moved out of ICU a few hours earlier and put into a room on the third floor.

"She's on oxygen to help with her breathing, but her lung seems to be healing and holding air. Once she stays awake more often, a nurse will come in and have her take some deep breaths to help prevent pneumonia. That, combined with the rib fractures, will make her entire torso hurt for quite a while. I'm restricting her movement to, well, not moving. Don't let her try to sit up until I say it's okay. The better she gets to feeling, the harder that will be.

"If she's asleep when you go in there, just talk to her. She may not react right away, but I'm confident she does hear people speaking to her. Her poor body just has so many things to repair that it's overworked. It will do her good to hear familiar voices though. She woke up once in the ICU and had a bit of a panic attack."

They soon arrived in front of room 312. Before he could walk in, Mike turned back to the doctor.

"Has her mother been here?"

Dr. Conrad nodded. "All morning. Why?"

"Well...they have kind of a contentious relationship, and I'm not sure Amy will take her presence well."

"If her presence is detrimental to the recovery of my patient, we can have her banned. Sadly, it's happened before. I have never hesitated to ban someone from the hospital. My patients come first."

Mike shook his hand. "Thanks, Fred. I promise I won't stay long."

Dr. Conrad went back down the hall and Mike quietly walked into Amy's room. The room was deadly silent, save for the beeping of the heart monitor and the dripping from the IV. It was almost completely dark. There was a lamp on in the corner of the room by an easy chair, which Mike found to be empty. Taking a quick scan of the room, he found it void of any meddling mothers. He let out a sigh of relief and walked to the bed.

In the bed lay a barely recognizable woman. Her right leg was in a brace and slightly elevated above the bed. The rest of her body, minus her arms, was covered in blankets. She had several IVs and monitors attached to her arm and chest. She had an oxygen tube in her nose and her face was covered in either bandages or bruises. He saw a tube coming out from under the blanket - a tube Mike assumed was the chest tube.

Mike felt tears building up in his eyes. He couldn't imagine someone going through everything she had. He took ahold of her left hand, which was now in a cast, and just stood by her side for a moment.

The door to her room opened and in walked Margaret, carrying a cup of coffee. She immediately noticed her daughter's visitor.

"Who are you?" she snapped.

Mike knew he was in for quite a time. "Lieutenant Mike Stone with the San Francisco Police. You must be Margaret."

"I am. Let me guess," she said, walking to the easy chair. "You're _his_ partner."

"If by _his_, you mean Inspector Keller, then you're right," Mike answered, mimicking the disdain in Margaret's voice.

"Then I will thank you to leave the room and not come back," she said sternly, setting her cup down on a small table next to the chair. "You and your partner are not welcome in this room."

"Then have me thrown out," Mike said just as sternly. "I came here to see Amy, and I'm sure she would want me to stay."

Margaret narrowed her eyes. "They're not going to throw a cop out of the hospital."

Mike looked up and her and smirked. "No, I suppose they're not."

Margaret sat down in the chair, still glaring at Mike.

"May I ask you a question? Something that's been bothering me lately?" Mike asked.

"You're going to regardless," Margaret answered.

"Why do you hate Steve so much? I'm under the impression that you two have never even met."

"You don't beat around the bush, do you, Lieutenant?"

"No point in casual small talk."

"Why do I hate him?" She raised her hand and pointed it at her daughter. "Do you see her? Look at her! All this was made possible by him. He got her into this and look what happened! She's lying here fighting for her life!"

"You don't think this would have happened anyway? I guess we can't ask him now, but I'm confident that Paul Carpenter had something like this planned regardless of Steve's presence. He was a very disturbed young man with a violent vision of love. Every injury Amy is suffering from is from him and him alone."

"How dare you say that about Paul! He was a decent man! Your partner drove him to madness!"

Mike bit his tongue. "You do realize that he killed several people before Amy ever met Steve? I believe your husband was one of them."

Margaret snorted. "You're as bad as those LAPD detectives."

"If Steve hadn't stopped him, Paul would have gone on killing, because Amy never loved him the way he loved her. Eventually he would have realized that...and this would have happened anyway," Mike said, looking down at Amy. "She would be dead right now if not for Steve Keller."

"And Paul is dead because of him! The news said he was the one who killed Paul. He didn't have to shoot him, you know! He was probably scared that Amy would leave him, so he shot his competition."

Mike squeezed Amy's hand. "He did this to your daughter...and you're defending him. You hate Steve that much?"

"Yes I do. He turned my daughter into a lovesick fool. We were this close to getting her to move back to LA...this close," Margaret said, clenching her jaw. "Then she meets him. He gets her shot but then 'saves' her, and she's suddenly enamored. Everything was about him! Steve this, Steve that. She was throwing the word love around like it was nothing! Love? No one falls in love after a week! My daughter was never like that - never! He's nothing but a lecherous, licentious, lascivious lothario who wouldn't know the last thing about love! Amy is naive, and he could see her coming a mile away."

Mike was in awe of Margaret's ability to use a thesaurus to look for words that inaccurately described his partner. He figured that's what she did with her time instead of getting to know the facts of the situation.

"Haven't you ever had a moment in your life where you knew instantly that it was right? That it was just perfect...or that it was meant to be?" Mike asked.

"That's foolish," she snapped.

"Love often is," Mike replied. "But sometimes fate just happens to align the stars at the right time bringing two soulmates together. And those two people...they just know. At first, I thought Steve was jumping into something that was just going to be another infatuation - he's done it before - but then I saw just how much these two care about each other. There's a genuine love there, even if we don't fully understand how it developed in such a short time. It's not for us to understand though."

"Amy is not like that. She's the least impulsive person I have ever known. She would never do something like this unless...he brainwashed her! Like people that get sucked into those freaky cults. He did something to her."

"Well, I've known Steve for four years now, and I have never seen him brainwash anyone, but I have seen several women fall for him. He's just a handsome, charming young man. It's probably his biggest fault," Mike said, tongue-in-cheek. "But he's a stand-up man. Honest as the day is long, caring - probably to a fault...most women would be glad to have their daughter fall in love with a man like him."

"He have you brainwashed too? I thought that charming bullshit only worked on the ladies."

Mike looked down at Amy and saw her eyes moving rapidly underneath their lids.

"Maybe you don't know Amy as well as you think," he told Margaret. "Our children change as they grow up. They move out of the house and forge their own paths, sometimes doing and saying things that surprise us."

Margaret sat in angered silence for a moment. "It's nothing but a ridiculous infatuation. Hero worship. He'll break her heart, and then she'll come crawling back to me, crying. I'll tell her it all could have been avoided if she just would have listened to me about Paul. _There_ was a genuine man. No pretentious bullshit from him. But now he's dead...because Steve Keller killed him."

Mike had never, in all his years on Earth, seen such a blind and deaf person. "Well, I don't think two people who were merely in lust would fight so hard to protect each other. I hope, for Amy's sake, you see that one day."

He decided he'd had enough of Margaret for a while and was about to leave, but then he felt Amy squeeze his hand with her fingers.

"Amy? It's Mike. Can you hear me?" he leaned in and said.

"Is she waking up?" Margaret asked, jumping out of the chair.

Amy squeezed Mike's hand again then slowly opened her left eye and looked at him.

"Mike?" she said in a barely audible voice.

Mike smiled. "Hello, there. I'm glad to see you awake!"

"Where...where...I'm not still in the house, am I?"

"No, no. You're in the hospital. It's actually the next morning."

"Hospital?" She seemed to be struggling to remember.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Mike asked her, thinking maybe he could help her fill in some blanks.

"Shooting...Steve. God...Mike! I shot him!" She started crying.

"Shhh...hey, it's okay!" Mike assured her. He placed his hand on her forehead and brushed some hair away. "Steve is fine! He's in a room upstairs."

"He must hate me!"

"Not at all! He's lying up there worried sick about you! He doesn't hate you at all!"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely!"

"Amy, Baby, how are you feeling?" Margaret asked, approaching the bed on Amy's right side.

Both of Amy's eyes flew open and darted over to her mother. "You," she growled.

Mike was shocked at the sudden anger in her voice.

"You!" Amy said louder.

"Yes, Honey, it's Mom."

"You're the reason I'm here. This is all your fault!"

Mike squeezed Amy's hand. "Amy, calm down."

Amy's eyes darted to Mike.

"She told Paul that Karen knew where Steve lived! It's all her fault that he found me! It's her fault that three people are in the hospital!"

Mike gave Margaret a steely look. "Is this true?"

Margaret shot Mike an equally steely look. "I'll thank you not to question my decisions regarding my daughter! You are not family!" She turned her attention to Amy. "Why were you hiding from Paul, Dear? He wanted so badly to help you, but you refused to listen to him! You were just so obsessed with that…"

Amy's heart monitor was beeping faster than Steve's ever did. Her breathing was rapid, and underneath the bruising, her face was turning red. She suddenly bolted upright and with her good arm, started swatting at her mother, who quickly backed up.

Mike immediately tried to hold her down while pushing the call button.

"I want you to die!" Amy shrieked. "This is all your fault! I hate you! I HATE YOU!"

A nurse and Dr. Conrad rushed in and saw the highly agitated state Amy was in. Dr. Conrad immediately told the nurse to get him a syringe of methaqualone. He then assisted Mike in getting Amy to lay back down.

"Get her out of here, Mike!" Amy cried. Then she started hyperventilating as she began having a panic attack.

"Hey, calm down, okay? Don't you worry about her anymore. I'll take care of it," Mike told her. He then released her hand and walked over to Margaret.

"You can't kick me out of my own daughter's room! She's delusional!"

"If you don't come with me right now, I'll arrest you for harassment," Mike told her, not mincing words.

"You're going to let him arrest me?" she shouted, running back to Amy's side.

"ARREST HER!" Amy screamed. "SHE TRIED TO KILL ME!"

Dr. Conrad, who was now checking to make sure Amy didn't dislodge her chest tube, looked up at Margaret. "You are not allowed back in this room, is that clear?" he said in no uncertain terms.

"You cannot kick me out because she thinks I killed her or something! She's clearly lost her mind!"

Mike took Margaret's arm and led her away from the bed and out the door.

Once out in the hallway, Margaret kept up with her protest. "She's not in her right mind! You can't listen to her! You can't kick me out on her say so!"

"I can and I am! If you do not leave right this moment, I will arrest you and have you physically escorted out of the hospital."

Margaret gave Mike a look that could have stopped his heart. "You've all brainwashed her! You've all turned her against me!" She got in Mike's face. "You have not seen the last of me! I will see my daughter!"

She began to huff away but then turned back. "I will be at my hotel when she changes her mind." She then stormed down the hallway.

Mike, not fazed by Margaret's threat, went back into Amy's room. The nurse had arrived and was administering the methaqualone so that Amy would calm down. He went back to Amy's side.

Her eyes were closed, but she seemed to know Mike was there. "I don't want to see her anymore, Mike! I can't!"

"Don't worry," he said, taking her hand again. "I'm going to see if I can get an emergency protection order against her so she can't come back in here."

"What does that mean?" Amy asked, opening her eyes.

"An officer at the scene of a crime can get one issued for a week. She'll have to stay away from the hospital for that long. It will give us time to get a more permanent order issued."

"You can get a restraining order against your own mother?"

"If we can convince the courts that she's a danger to you, yes. It might take some doing in this case, but I know a D.A. who has a few tricks up his sleeve," Mike said, giving her a wink.

"Can't you arrest her for being an accessory or something? She gave him my location!"

"Not sure about that. She would have had to have known about the kidnapping before or after it happened. I don't think she did, but I'll talk to Gerry and see if he can come up with anything."

Amy lay in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling and trying to calm down. "She told Paul Steve's last name...and that Karen knew where he lived. I'm sure that's why he went to see her." She turned to Mike. "How is she?"

"In about the same shape as you."

"We could share a room," Amy said, trying to bring some levity to the situation.

Mike chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

"This really is a lot her fault. If she hadn't told Paul that Karen knew where Steve lived, he never would hurt her or me or Steve. She's as insane as he was."

"I believe it. While I'm around, I don't want you to worry though. I'll make sure you're safe. You need to rest now; you nearly gave me a heart attack with that scene!"

"I'm sorry. I just...I heard her...and remembered what she did."

"It's alright! You have every right to feel that way. I'm sorry she...I can't even describe her, you know?"

Amy laughed as best she could. "I shouldn't have sat up. God, my ribs hurt so bad. So does my head."

"You have five broken ribs and a concussion, Amy," Dr. Conrad said. "Plus we had to sew up a hole in your left lung. Your whole torso is going to be sore for quite some time."

Amy groaned.

"Do you remember any of the attack?" Mike asked.

"Attack? Singular? More like attacks. He beat me at least three times that I can remember. I think I passed out during them though. I remember the last one...kind of. He came at me with...something...and just wailed on me. He slapped me, punched me the face, threw me against a wall, kicked me in the stomach, tied me to a chair. That's how I broke my wrist - trying to get out of the restraint."

"Ouch," Mike said. "It's all over though. He's gone and can't hurt you anymore."

"He made me shoot Steve." She started crying again. "He kidnapped Jasmine and used her to make me kill Steve."

"And they're both fine!"

"She's okay?" Amy asked, already getting drowsy.

"Yep. She's upstairs with Steve right now. She's looking forward to seeing you, but I think you need to rest right now."

"I agree," Dr. Conrad chimed in. "The tranquilizer I gave you will kick in pretty soon anyway. Later today though you can have more visitors."

"She's with Steve? Good. Mike?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you tell them I'm sorry?"

"No, I will not...because you have nothing to be sorry for."

Amy closed her eyes and drifted off while Mike sat holding her hand.

"She'll be out for several hours. Try coming back around three or so. Enough of the drug should have worn off by then to arouse her. In the meantime, I am going to pay security a visit. I completely underestimated the contentiousness of their relationship."

"Yeah, so did I," Mike said wistfully.


	49. Chapter 49

_**I feel like I'm mentioning a lot of things that don't seem to have a purpose or seem to be leading anywhere, but I assure you they are eventually leading to something! I thank you for hanging in there to find out!**_

After a quick call to headquarters, Mike went back upstairs to tell Steve what had happened. Upon entering his room, he found Jasmine on the floor putting a puzzle together, and a nurse attending to Steve's gunshot wound.

"Am I in time for the party?" Mike joked.

"Oh sure. Set your hors d'oeuvres on the table right there and grab some punch. Maybe I can get a two for one wound care special," Steve said facetiously.

"I think I'll pass." Mike looked at the young nurse. "He's your most difficult patient, isn't he?"

She smiled. "Cops usually are," she teased, carefully removing the bandage from Steve's side.

Mike looked down at Jasmine. "What do you have there?"

"She found me a puzzle," she told him, looking up. "Are you good at these? I need help."

"I can be, but I'm going to have to go to work. I suddenly found several things to keep me busy."

"What happened, Mike? Is Amy awake?" Steve asked anxiously.

"Not anymore."

"But she was?" His voice had a certain amount of hope.

Mike nodded. "For a bit, but…"

"But what?"

Mike looked at Jasmine and then at Steve. "I'm not sure we should discuss this…" He pointed at the little girl on the floor.

"It's fine. Just spit it out, Mike. What happened?"

Mike pulled the chair closer to the bed so he wouldn't have to speak loudly and sat down. "Margaret was there."

"Are you guys talking about your girlfriend?" the nurse, Jenny, asked Steve.

"Yeah. Margaret is her mother."

"Oh...and you said she hates you, right?"

"Despises is more like it," Mike said. "When I first walked in there, the room was empty and Amy was asleep. Soon though, Margaret came in and tried to kick me out."

"She what?" Steve asked in disbelief. "She tried to kick out a cop?"

"I told her to try it."

Steve chuckled slyly.

"Then we had a...how do I put this...an enlightening conversation. She blames you for Amy being in the hospital...and being in this whole mess to start with. She's furious that you killed Paul. In fact, despite everything, she still defends him."

Steve just shook his head.

"Wait...this guy kidnaps her daughter, and she sides with him?" Jenny asked. "Did she escape from an asylum?"

Mike had to chuckle. "I'm beginning to wonder."

"What else did she have to say about me? I'm sure that wasn't all," Steve said, antipathy in his voice.

"Oh no. She called you a lecherous, licentious, lascivious lothario."

"Holy L, Batman," Steve cracked, rolling his eyes.

"You turned her innocent, yet highly naive, daughter into a lovesick fool. You brainwashed her not unlike a cult leader, and you will soon break her heart, causing her to crawl back to her mother, who will promptly tell her this wouldn't have happened if she had just married Paul."

Steve closed his eyes. Mike wasn't sure exactly how he was reacting to this. Was he mad or sad?

"You don't believe any of that, do you Mike? Am I the only one who believes I genuinely love her?"

"Of course not! Stop thinking that," Mike scolded.

"You didn't always think that though, did you?" Steve asked accusingly.

Mike gave Steve a contemptuous look. "What has gotten into you? Are you trying to get into a fight with me? No, I didn't always think that! I've seen you carry on relationships with plenty of girls over the years, and at first, I thought this was no different than any of them!"

Mike paused. "But I didn't think it for long. I watched how you interacted with each other, and it was in a way I have never seen you do with anyone else. I knew the moment I met her that she was different."

He looked over at Jasmine, who was too busy doing her puzzle to care what the adults were talking about. "The way you care and worry about those two...I just hope you realize how special this is...and this relationship lasts a little longer than the others."

Mike looked back at Steve and saw that he had tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired...of all the doubt. I feel like I have to prove something I shouldn't have to just because it was a week."

"Prove to who? Margaret? I don't think Amy even cares what she thinks. The only person you have to prove your love to is Amy. Forget her mother! She has no say...in anything."

"What's with all the doubting?" Jenny asked. "This woman sounds like my in-laws when my husband and I got married."

Steve sighed. "I'm in love with a woman I've known a whole week."

"Ah," Jenny said. "I get it. I lived it."

Steve turned his head and looked at her. "You lived it?"

Jenny finished applying a fresh bandage to Steve's bullet wound. "Yep. Married my husband a month after we met. I heard it all - 'This is foolish!', 'You barely know each other!', 'It's just an infatuation', yadda yadda yadda. I stopped talking to people for a while. They didn't know me or my husband, yet they felt that it was their place to tell us how to behave. How dare we stray from the norm, you know? You must date for x amount of years and you must be engaged for x amount of years...forget that! When you know, you know! Why wait?"

"How long have you been together?" Steve asked, worried she'd say some short amount of time that really didn't help his point.

"Ten years." She smiled. "I knew after our first date that I wanted to marry him. I honestly tried talking myself out of it for a long time, but sometimes you just can't fight fate." She put his hospital gown down and told him to turn his head so she could see that wound.

"If I were you, Steve, I would ignore everyone and just listen to your heart. Often, it's smarter than your head. When my head was telling me no, my heart was saying yes."

"Are you glad you made the choice you did?" Steve asked before wincing in pain.

"Absolutely. Sorry...your head is more sensitive, but it seems to be healing nicely."

"Look, Buddy Boy, you've done far too much for this girl to walk away from her now, especially if it's because a few people give you curious glances. It's your life and they're your feelings. You do what you want with them."

He sat and watched Steve grimace as Jenny cleaned his head wound. He also started to think about his own wife, who he still missed dearly even after all these years. He always considered himself the luckiest man in the world to get a woman like Helen to return his affections, and the more he thought, the more Steve and Amy reminded him of himself and Helen when they were first starting out. That made him smile.

"If you're lucky enough to get someone you love to love you back...then to hell with everyone else," he finally added.

"Amen, Lieutenant!" Jenny said, finishing up her task. "If it makes you happy, then anyone who puts it down is just jealous."

Mike nodded. "You know, that could be a part of this. She's a widow - and apparently still a grieving one. Then her daughter meets a man and falls in love, and she's jealous. Although this is easily the worst bout of jealousy I have ever seen. Jealous or not, no sane person does what she did...which is why Amy did what she did."

"Mike, what are you talking about?" Steve asked, turning his head back forward.

"Just before I went to leave, Amy woke up. She was fine until she heard her mother. Then...she lost it."

"What do you mean, she lost it?" Steve asked anxiously.

"She tried to attack her mother. She kept yelling that this was all her fault and that she tried to kill Amy." Mike shook his head. "Amy was so angry. Both Dr. Conrad and I told Margaret to leave, but she put up a fight, so I told her I'd arrest her for harassment if she came back."

"I'm sure she took that well."

Mike sighed. "She may be jealous, but she's also quite unstable. It kind of scares me. But, at least you don't have to worry about not seeing Amy."

"Let's go," Steve said, attempting to sit up. Jenny pushed him back down.

"No, now is rest time," she told him.

"Oh come on!" Steve protested. "I'm fine!"

"Doesn't matter anyway; she's out like a light. She got so worked up that Dr. Conrad had to give her a sedative. It'll be much later today before she wakes up."

Steve groaned.

Mike stood up. "He suggested late this afternoon, so how about I come back then and take you downstairs?"

Steve reluctantly agreed. "What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I'm going to go downtown and see if I can sweet-talk a judge into giving me an EPO for Amy against Margaret. I'd like something more solid than a hospital ban to keep her away from here. Then I'm going to pay Millie Cox a visit."

"Isn't she that judge those kids kidnapped last December?"

Mike nodded. "I'm hoping she can give me some insight into what we may be fighting here."

"You'd do that for us?" Steve asked.

"What's best for the child...and what's best for the two of you." Mike put his hand on Steve's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I want you to get some rest though. I told Haseejian that he could send someone today to interview you for the investigation."

Steve groaned again. "I kind of tried to forget that part."

"You did shoot a man. Don't worry; I'm sure it will all be formality and you'll be back to chauffeuring me around in no time!" Mike chuckled.

"Gee, thanks," Steve said, smiling while he said it.

Mike said goodbye to Jasmine, who was still highly focused on her puzzle, before turning back to Steve. "Everything is going to work out fine."

Steve just shrugged like nothing was bothering him.

* * *

After leaving Steve's room, Mike decided to go back to the third floor and talk to Fred Conrad. He caught the doctor in the hallway outside Amy's room.

"Hey, Fred, I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"About Amy? Luckily she didn't do any more damage to herself. She's resting comfortably right now."

"That's a relief. But no, I actually wanted to ask you about Steve. I know he's not your patient, but, well…"

"Ask me anything, Mike. What's bothering you?"

"His mood. I mean, sure, he has a temper just like the next guy, but overall he's a pretty reserved guy. Not the type to pour out his feelings, you know?"

Fred smiled and nodded.

"But ever since this, he's been very emotional and quick-tempered. Things that wouldn't normally rattle him are setting him off. He's snappy and teary-eyed."

"Well, his girlfriend is in bad shape. I'm sure he's worried. That can rattle even the most emotionless of men."

"It's more than that, though. He's not himself."

Fred nodded. "Those closest to a person do see the changes in mood the most. I haven't examined him, but he does have a concussion, correct?"

Mike nodded.

"Then he could have a bit of Post Concussion Syndrome. One symptom is change in mood, like being more depressed, anxious, or irritable. It can go away as quickly as it comes, or it can linger on for a while. It depends on the brain's speed of healing...and any stress he may be experiencing."

Mike sighed. "What can I do?"

"Well, if it concerns you this much, I can talk to him. I can also order some neurological tests to rule out any other causes. The best thing for him is plenty of rest and as little stress as possible."

"He's been saying he's had trouble sleeping."

"That's also a symptom. We can always prescribe some sedatives. They're working well for Amy."

"Do you think it would be good for him to come down and see her?"

Fred smiled. "To use a worn-out cliche...it's just what the doctor ordered...for both of them. A bout of Post Concussion Syndrome is likely in the cards for her as well. If they both know the other is okay, that will reduce stress and help them both heal. After my rounds, I'll head up there and talk to his doctor, and then I'll pop in on Steve."

Mike shook his hand. "I really would appreciate it. I owe you one."

Both men went their separate ways. As Mike worked his way to the elevator, he thought having a talk with Lenny Murchison might also be a good idea. Steve would have to go through a post-shooting psychiatric evaluation anyway, but the earlier this got taken care of, the sooner he could get his partner back at one hundred percent.


	50. Chapter 50

"Oh, come on, Stan. You can't deny it that quickly!" Mike said, exasperated at the man sitting in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Mike, but I just don't see a real threat," Judge Stan Pennington said. "It was just the one occurrence, correct? And no arrest was made?"

"Well…you're correct, but she did give her daughter's kidnapper her location! Without that, Amy might still be safe and not in a hospital."

"Can you prove she did it with ill-intentions?"

Mike looked down at his hat, which was sitting on his lap. "It was in a conversation between her and the deceased...so no."

"So basically all you have is that her mother told someone where she was. From what you said, this someone, although obviously dangerous, was an old family friend. She very well could have been concerned for her daughter's well-being and thought he could help."

"You know that's not what happened!" Mike countered.

"But the law doesn't. The law will see a concerned mother with no prior threats against her daughter. They will also see a woman who just woke up from major trauma and who may not be completely in her right mind or may not have remembered everything perfectly. Any lawyer worth their degree will use the fact that she has a concussion to argue that she may not be thinking clearly."

Mike slammed his hat back on his head and stood up in a huff.

Judge Pennington also stood. "Mike, trust me. I am sympathetic to the situation. What this woman did sounds cold-blooded, but you asked me for an EPO as a judge; I have to deny you the same way."

"I know, Stan. It's just frustrating when you try to use the law to protect someone...and the law puts them in harm's way."

"Trust me, I understand that every time the law gets someone off who deserves to go to prison. We just have to do the best we can to get the law to work for us instead of against us. My suggestion to you? Use that intuitive mind of yours to find something about this case you can use to help this girl. A dig through the past is always an interesting place to start. You might find nothing, but how bad would you feel if you didn't look?"

Mike looked at Stan, the wheels in his head already starting to spin. "Work for me…" He shook Judge Pennington's hand and left his chambers.

He immediately headed up to his office, thinking about things the whole way. Upon entering homicide, he walked over to Steve's desk and grabbed the folder that contained all the information they had on Amy's case.

"Hey Mike, how's Steve?" Bill Tanner asked.

"Stubborn as hell," Mike answered, taking the folder into his office.

"So as good as normal then?" Bill teased.

"That about sums it up," Mike replied, taking off his coat and hat and hanging them up on the coat rack.

Bill stood in the doorway. "Norm is having me take Steve's statement about the shooting. When should I head over there?"

"Make it this afternoon. I'm trying to get him to sleep more."

"Will do," Bill answered, walking away.

Mike sat down at his desk and started looking through the folder. After a few minutes of checking and rechecking, he closed the folder, not finding what he was looking for. He stood up, went to his door, and shouted for Haseejian.

Norm soon appeared in front of his superior. "Yeah, Mike?"

"There doesn't appear to be an R &amp; I report in here for Margaret Johnson. Get me one," Mike said, handing Norm the folder.

"The victim's mother?" Norm asked, a bit surprised at the request.

Mike just nodded.

"I'll see what I can do," Norm said, turning around and heading out the door.

Mike then turned back around and sat down at his desk. He picked up the phone to make his first of many phone calls.

* * *

"I'd get up and leave without dignifying your question with an answer, but I know you mean well, so you're grabbing at straws. It makes me wish I had better news, but you already know what I'm going to tell you, Mike," Gerald O'Brien said. He was sitting in front of Mike's desk holding a cup of coffee.

"That there's no proof that she had any knowledge of the kidnapping, before or after it happened, making it impossible to charge her as an accessory. I got a very similar story from Pennington earlier."

"I really am sorry," Gerry reiterated.

"I know. So am I. I just...I don't trust this woman. I don't know why, but it's been gnawing at me all day. Maybe it was how she told me I hadn't seen the last of her."

"This is definitely not the news you want to hear, but you're almost going to have to arrest her if you want her to stay away for good."

Mike sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of. Maybe I'm blowing this all out of proportion! Maybe she won't show her face again."

"But that famous Mike Stone instinct says there's something wrong...and I know that instinct is usually right. Frustrating, but right." Gerry smiled.

"If I weren't frustrating, nothing would get done around here!" Mike joked.

Gerry set his coffee on Mike's desk and stood up. "If you do catch a break, I'll do what I can."

Mike extended his hand and the two men shook on it.

"I appreciate it, Gerry. I know it probably seems like I'm just doing this for Steve, but…"

"You'd do it for anyone out there. You're not fooling anyone. Talk to you later," Gerry said, turning and walking out of Mike's office.

Mike stood up and walked to the coat rack. As he grabbed his coat and hat, he saw Tanner walking into the squad room.

"You talk to Steve?" Mike asked him.

Bill nodded. "Gave me a very detailed account of the events."

"Good. He didn't give you any trouble?"

Bill chuckled. "No. Did you expect him to?"

Mike shrugged. "Was Jasmine there?"

"The little girl? No."

"Good. Get to work on that then. Have you guys heard from anyone on when they're gathering the panel together to discuss Steve's return to work?"

"I haven't, but maybe Norm has. I'll tell him you want to know."

"Thanks, Bill. I'm heading back to the hospital. I have a bunch of unhappy news to tell my partner."

"You want me to go in case he gives you trouble?" Bill asked, chuckling.

"In case? Oh, he will."

* * *

Mike walked into Steve's room and saw him lying with his eyes closed. Upon hearing the door, Steve opened one eye slightly. He wanted to see who his intruder was, but hoped they wouldn't see that he was awake. Once he saw it was just Mike, he opened both eyes.

"Oh, you," he said unenthusiastically.

"Nice to see you as well, Buddy Boy. To what do I own this exuberant display of affection?"

"That barrage of people you sent me today. First Lois comes and takes Jasmine away, saying you asked her to. Why would you do that?" Steve asked, annoyed.

"I figured it would be better for her not to be hanging around while you were talking to Bill."

"Just Bill? What about Lenny? Or the two doctors who wanted to evaluate my mental state? Why did I have to go through all that?"

"For starters, you know you have to talk to Lenny to get back to regular duty. You do want your job back, don't you?"

"Of course!" Steve snapped. "But this wasn't just some talk about how the shooting made me feel. No, Sir, this was 'Let's delve down deep into Steve's psyche because everyone seems to think he's losing it. This girl's got him too distracted!'"

"No one thinks you are losing it!" Mike snapped back. "And no one blames Amy! We've all been in love before and let it rule our thoughts...but this is way more than that! You are not acting like yourself! When you're not being overly mournful, you're snapping at people. That's not like you...and I'm sorry if my worrying annoys you, but you'll just have to get used to it."

Steve was shocked to hear Mike getting angry right back. It silenced him.

"I get that you're worried about Amy, and stress can make people moody, but when you get out of here and come back to work, you can't be half here and half out there. It doesn't work that way. If that shooting panel thinks you're even 1% not on the job, they'll put you on desk duty, and I'm pretty sure that would make you even moodier."

Steve sighed and sat quiet for a moment. "I guess...maybe...that blow to the head did more damage than I want to admit," he said quietly. "I have been kind of emotional lately. I guess I've never had anyone to worry about as much before...besides you, I guess."

Mike smiled. It may not have come out completely complimentary, but Mike understood the sincerity behind the statement.

"It's not a forever thing though. You just need to rest and find a way to deal with your worry. That's why I wanted Lenny to speak with you. He probably has ideas of how you, and Amy, can deal with all the stress this case brought on...and is sadly still bringing on. If you don't deal with it now, you'll bottle it up and then explode at the worst time. I don't want that for you...or any of us."

Steve turned his head and looked at Mike. "I'm sorry. Really. You're right. Dr. Conrad said I might have something called Post Concussion Syndrome and that my brain just needs to heal for a while. He ordered some x-rays for tomorrow."

"Good. You're going to have to rest and let other people take care of you for once."

"Yeah. I'm not so good at that, Mike."

Mike smiled. "No, you're not. But you have two people now who are depending on you to help them, so you need to learn to accept help so you can heal."

The two sat in silence for a moment more while Steve collected his thoughts and emotions. Then he said, "I need to see her, Mike."

"Don't you want to wait for Jasmine to come back? I told Lois to bring her back around dinner."

Steve shook his head. "I need to see her alone first."

Mike nodded knowingly before slightly changing the subject. "Before that, I need to update you on some things I was working on today."

Steve gave him a suspicious, yet anxious look. "About Jasmine? You did say you were going to talk to Judge Cox."

"Yeah, and I did. I pleaded your case, and she admitted that it didn't look too promising."

"Great," Steve muttered dejectedly.

"However, she did have a couple suggestions. There's going to be a meeting tomorrow, unfortunately in front of another judge. Millie decided to come here and talk to Amy personally and then stand in on her behalf. Lois agreed that it would be a good idea to at least try."

"She can do that?"

Mike shrugged. "Millie never did anything by the book before; why start now?"

Steve grinned, remembering how her "not-by-the-book" approach had gotten her kidnapped by a distraught 19 year old desperate to keep his siblings together. Despite the danger she'd been put in, she still worked tirelessly on the case and managed to keep the two youngest together and get them into a good home. If your situation looked bleak, Judge Mildred Cox was the person you wanted on your side.

"Jasmine is also going to be there," Mike added.

"They're willing to ask her who she'd rather live with?"

"Yes. Doesn't mean they'll listen...but they're willing to hear her out."

"She's not going to want to go live with someone she's never even met."

"That might be your ace in the hole, Buddy Boy."

A slight smile came across Steve's face. "I guess all we can do is hope."

Mike nodded. "I'll give you a moment to think about how you're going to break the news to Amy. I suggested Millie and Lois stop by tonight. Right now, I'm going to go make sure I can spring you from the joint and then check if she's even awake."

Steve nodded. "Thanks...for putting up with me."

Mike patted his partner on the back. "Any time."

Mike left the room, leaving Steve with his thoughts. He was trying to remain hopeful about Jasmine's living situation, but it was tough. He knew the odds were highly stacked against him and Amy, but he just couldn't wrap his head around the thought of a court that would be willing to send a child off to a foreign state to live with people she didn't even know existed, even if they were blood and rich. It wouldn't be the first time he'd ever witnessed a miscarriage of justice, and he doubted it would be the last, but this wasn't a case involving some lowlife. It was about the well-being of an innocent six year old. No humane adult could knowingly ruin a child's life and not feel bad about it - it just couldn't happen.

"It won't happen. That's all there is to it," Steve said aloud. "I just need to somehow convince Amy of that." He shook his head; this would possibly be the most difficult task of his life.

* * *

Mike walked quietly into Amy's dark room. There was a light over the bed, but the curtains were drawn, not allowing any of the remaining daylight through. Looking at the bed, he saw Amy lying with her eyes closed, but decided to try to awaken her regardless.

"Amy?" he said quietly, once again taking her hand in his, though this time switching to her uninjured hand.

"Amy? It's Mike. Can you hear me?"

She began to stir, but did not open her eyes or say anything.

"That's okay. You need your rest. Steve's going to be disappointed though," he said, squeezing her hand.

At the sound of Steve's name, Amy opened an eye. "Mike?"

"Hey. I wasn't sure if you were up for company or not. How are you feeling?"

"Foggy. How long was I out?"

Mike looked at his watch. "About six hours."

"You weren't here the whole time, were you?" she asked, barely moving her mouth.

Mike shook his head. He then pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. "No, I was busy downtown."

Amy looked at the expression on his face. Even though her vision was slightly blurry and unfocused, she could tell he didn't have good news.

"I take it you didn't get any of the answers you were hoping for," she said quietly.

"Unfortunately...no," he said dejectedly. "The judge didn't think she was enough of a threat yet, since it was the one time...and she gave me no reason to arrest her."

Tears began running down Amy's face, so she turned to look at the ceiling. "Not a threat, huh?"

"Not legally, no. Trust me, I wasn't any happier than you, but that's the law."

"What about her being an accessory? That was a no go as well?"

Mike simply nodded, not bothering to go into details. The word no was bad enough. He could tell she was growing more anxious by the second, so he tried to allay her fears.

"Dr. Conrad talked to the security office here, and every officer on the hospital campus is to be on the lookout for her. I'll be in the building as much as I possibly can. If you ever feel uncomfortable, just call a nurse. Everyone on the floor knows, so don't hesitate to tell them if something happens."

Amy gave Mike's hand a squeeze. "Thank you. I don't want you to think I'm being ungrateful. You guys have helped me more than you should have. Can I ask you something?" She turned her head slightly so she was looking at Mike again.

"Sure. You can ask me anything."

She paused before saying, "Did you and my mom talk before I woke up? Were you guys in here together for a long time?"

Mike wasn't sure why she wanted to know, but he said, "We chatted a little. If she'd had her way, I would have been long gone though."

"She tried to make you leave? Why?" She paused, then started speaking again before Mike could answer her. "Never mind. It's because you're Steve's partner...and anything related to Steve is automatically detested."

Mike smiled. "You know her well. I'm not easily intimidated though."

Amy also smiled as best she could with a bruised and fractured face. "I bet you're not. You've probably seen your share of wackos in your years on the force. After a while, you probably become desensitized."

Mike shrugged. "Sometimes. Every now and then though, you do run into someone who breaks the mold. It helps keep me on my toes. Besides, you don't become a policeman to make friends."

Amy chuckled and then coughed. "I can't wait for this lung to heal. Or the ribs. I'm not really sure which is giving me the most trouble. It's just a big lump of hurt. Of course, every time I cough, I have to move my face and jaw, which makes that hurt worse also. I'm just a mess. I think I've already forgotten what normal feels like."

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly while her face expressed the pain it caused her. "So anyway," she began afterward, "what did you guys talk about?"

Mike tried to distract her by saying that they didn't talk about anything important, but Amy was having none of it.

"Just humor me, huh? I don't really know why I want to know...it was something I thought about earlier."

"Fair enough. I asked her why she hated Steve so much."

"Did she give you a reason?"

"She's convinced that he put you here. Paul did this to you because Steve drove him mad and made him. Then he killed Paul out jealousy."

Amy stared at Mike in disbelief. "You're actually serious? She said that?"

Mike nodded. "Nothing I said made a difference."

"How'd she find out who killed Paul anyway?"

"The news."

Amy sighed. "Of course." She remained silent for a moment.

"What the hell is happening to her?" Amy looked up at the ceiling again in an effort to fight off tears.

"She mentioned the she was close to getting you to move back to LA. Is that true?"

"Hell no. I had no intention of moving back home. She only wanted me to so she'd have someone to take care of her. I know she and my dad loved each other and had a good marriage, but I swear that's all she wanted out of it - someone to take care of her. Dad was willing to...I wasn't. As much as Paul seemed to adore her, she should have just made him her son; he would have taken care of her. I would have been much happier if she just would have left me alone." Amy paused. "That sounds terrible, but...if I had to choose, I would have chosen the man I knew a week over her. She's just...lost it. I swear she used to be normal. Ever since Dad died though…"

"Grief and stress can do nasty things to some people. Trying to dictate someone else's life like she's doing with yours though...that's extreme."

Amy sighed and looked at Mike. "I'm sorry I'm unloading all this on you. You probably think I'm as crazy as she is."

"Not at all!" Mike said. "To tell you the truth, I kind of miss this. Ever since Jeannie went off to school, I haven't gotten to play dad as often."

Amy smiled. "You probably play dad with Steve sometimes though, don't you?"

Mike laughed. "I do feel that way sometimes, yes. Especially now."

"Why now? Is he being a bad patient?"

"He's...well...he's just worried about you, that's all. He's taking it a little harder than I've seen him take anything before."

Amy looked at the ceiling again and said nothing. Mike could tell what he'd just said bothered her.

"And you're worried about him being so worried about me? Are you sure it's worry and not hate?"

Mike squeezed her hand. "Don't be ridiculous! Why would he hate you?"

"My mom was partially right about one thing...she just had it turned around. Someone did get someone else into this mess, but it was me who got him into it, not the other way around."

"You didn't get him into anything! It's not like you drugged him...or held him at gunpoint," Mike joked. Then he quickly remembered that part of her guilt was from shooting Steve and regretted what he said.

"Poor choice of words," he said as her eyes filled up with tears. "What I mean is, he's a grown man who is very capable of making his own decisions. Some of his decisions regarding the case may not have been the wisest, but don't we all do that? We do what we can with what we know. His decision to go in there alone was foolish, but if he hadn't, you may not be here right now. He doesn't regret it, so you shouldn't worry about it."

"But what if he gets demoted, or loses his job, or suffers some kind of long-term complication from the shooting? He'll blame me for it...because it is my fault. If it wasn't for me, he'd be healthy and happy and wouldn't have a care in the world." She paused. "He's always going to look at me and see regret."

She pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. Mike knew she was fighting off the urge to cry. He felt like he could have said a hundred things to her, but she didn't need to hear them from him; she needed to hear them from Steve.

"Why don't you get some rest for a bit?" he told her instead. "I'll be back in a little while, okay? Do you need anything?"

She simply shook her head, so Mike lightly patted her right arm and left her to work through her sadness.


	51. Chapter 51

_**Hope everyone is having/did have a wonderful holiday week! Sorry this chapter is kind of long...guess I had a lot to say.**_

After fighting with Steve for five minutes over the doctor not wanting to completely remove the IV cannula and wanting him going downstairs in a wheelchair, Mike finally persuaded the stubborn man to listen to medical advice. Steve insisted on walking into the room though, and his doctor obliged the request.

At the door to Amy's room, Steve stopped before getting up. "You didn't tell me how she was feeling," he told Mike. "Are you hiding something?"

When Steve initially asked, after Mike had come back to get him, Mike tried putting him off. Steve was worried enough as it was and adding the fact that she felt responsible for everything wouldn't have helped. He instead told him they needed to get down there as soon as they could, because she was very tired.

"I'm not hiding anything," the older man responded.

"Then…?"

Mike sighed. "I didn't figure it would do your mood any good to know that she feels like hell."

"My mood is fine!" Steve snapped.

"Really?" Mike asked sarcastically.

Steve got the message loud and clear. He took a deep breath. "You're right. You're always right." He paused before standing up and asking to go in alone.

Mike patted him on the shoulder. "I'll be down the hall when you're ready to go back upstairs."

"Thanks," Steve said. He then turned and walked quietly into Amy's room.

The first thing that struck him was the depth of the silence. She was hooked up to more machines than he had been, yet her room was like walking into dead air. He had lay awake the night before listening to the silence of his room, but it sounded like a circus in comparison. Amy's room was so quiet, a person could hear a feather hit the floor. It was already driving him crazy; he had no idea how Amy stood it.

At first, he had trouble looking over at the bed. He had a feeling that she would look worse than she had when he rescued her, and it took him a moment to gather up the strength to take in the sight. Finally turning his head to the right toward her bed, he saw he was right. Even though the overhead lights were off, he could still see her well enough with the one fluorescent bulb on the wall behind her to see what condition she was in.

He walked over to the right side of the bed looking at Amy the entire time. Quietly he sat down in the chair and leaned on the bed. Amy's head was turned toward him, but her eyes were closed. She did not seem to realize he was there.

The sight of Amy's bruised and bandaged face broke Steve's heart. She hardly appeared to be the same person, but despite this, he still thought she looked like an angel, lying peacefully under the glow of fluorescent light. Watching her sleep, he let several tears escape his eyes and run down his cheeks. Gently, he reached out and caressed Amy's cheek with his index finger. She stirred.

Without opening her eyes, she quietly said, "Steve?"

"Good guess," he said back, smiling. "How'd you know?"

She smiled slightly. "You touched my cheek like that the other night. I guess I remembered the feeling. Besides, who else would touch me like that?"

Steve chuckled. "Better be no one. How do you feel?"

"Honestly? Like total shit. You?"

"A little better than that."

Amy opened her eyes and looked at him. "Be honest."

"I am! Honestly, I don't feel that bad. My head still hurts and my side aches, but really...I am okay. Pain meds are a beautiful thing," he said tongue-in-cheek.

She narrowed her eyes in an attempt to see him more clearly, even though he was only inches away from her. "Are you crying?" She reached out her good hand and touched his face with her fingertips.

"Guilty. I've been doing it a lot lately." He snickered. "Here I am, a guy who almost never cries...and you've got me crying all the time."

That made her start crying. "It's all my fault," she mumbled sadly.

Steve, not realizing exactly what she was talking about, agreed with her. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way."

Amy thought he was doing exactly what she thought he would. "I knew you hated me! I am so sorry!" She started crying heavily.

Steve was taken by surprise. "Hate you? Amy Johnson, I do not hate you!" He took her hand in his. "Hey, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself."

She closed her eyes. "It doesn't matter."

Steve had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Look at me," he said softly.

"No," she muttered.

Steve's roller coaster emotions started to go into overdrive. He was terribly apprehensive about where her mind was. "Amy, Sweetheart, please look at me. Please!" he pleaded.

She opened her eyes and looked at him through a veil of tears.

With his right hand in hers, he reached around and tenderly placed his left hand on the side of her head. "Why do you think I hate you?" he asked.

"Because this _is_ all my fault. You're in here because of me! I shot you!"

"No, you did not. He shot me!"

"But…" Amy began to protest, but Steve quickly cut her off.

"No buts! Listen to me first, then you can argue. You know one thing they teach you in the police academy? Always keep your eye on the gun. If someone has a gun, don't take your eyes off it, because the minute you do, you're dead. So the entire time you had that gun in your hand, I had my eye on it. While you two were struggling for control of the gun, you took your finger off the trigger."

"I did?" she interrupted.

Steve nodded. "Yes, you did. I'd swear to it in court. He's the one who pulled it, not you. He shot me...you didn't! You had both your hands on the handle while the two of you were struggling for control, and none of your fingers were on the trigger when the gun went off."

Amy took a moment to process the information. "You're not just saying this to make me feel less guilty, are you?"

"No, it's the truth. Would I say anything to make you feel better? Absolutely, but that is honestly how it happened. So see? You have nothing to feel bad about."

"But I still, for a split second, thought about shooting you to protect Jasmine. How awful of a person am I?!"

"You're not going to believe this...but I'm going to say it anyway. If that had been your only choice...I would have told you to shoot me," Steve said very seriously.

"What? You would not!"

"Yes I would. It was either I get shot by a woman who'd never fired a gun in her life and had questionable aim, or Jasmine gets blown up. That's accurate, right?"

Amy shook her head. "I don't know…"

"I would have had a much better chance of surviving a gunshot than Jasmine would have had. With those odds, if I had been in your place...I would have shot me."

Amy just stared at him, unable - or unwilling - to process what Steve had said. Amy closed her eyes tightly. "But you still got hurt," she cried.

"My head hurts a lot worse than my side, and you had nothing to do with that! Besides, you got hurt ten times worse. If anyone should be sorry, it's me."

"Why you?" she asked, confusion in her voice. She didn't feel he did wrong by her in the least.

"Because I promised you that Paul wouldn't hurt you as long as I was around…" He paused, his want to break down and cry getting stronger. Regaining his composure enough to move on, he whispered, "and I let you down." More tears escaped his eyes.

Amy opened her eyes again. "Why would you think you could ever let me down? You saved my life. You are my life."

Steve simply laid his face down in the bed. Amy, who could hear his almost silent sobs, let go of his hand and started lovingly playing with his hair, careful to avoid the stitches she quickly noticed were there.

She took as deep a breath as she could stand. "Everything that happened...it's all my mother's fault. We need to stop blaming ourselves for everything and remember that. None of what happened yesterday would have happened if not for her. Her desperation to get me to come back home just...I don't know, made her lose her mind. Everything is on her. If she hadn't told Paul about you, you guys would have found him before he got to me. I'm sure he had no idea where I was before my mother told him Karen knew."

She waited to see if he was going to say anything. When he didn't, she continued. "Besides...technically Paul never got to me when you were around. He got to me when you weren't." She tried to laugh to show Steve that she meant that as a light-hearted semantic observation, but she just ended up groaning at the pain.

It was enough to finally get a reaction out of him. "That's cute," he said as he chuckled, the mattress muffling his voice.

"I try."

"I still think I should have been around. If I'd have been home…"

"Then we probably would have had a similar scene, only in your living room. You would have had to try to get blood out of your carpet. If it was going to happen, it's better that it happened somewhere else."

"But at my place, you wouldn't have gone through what you did," Steve countered.

Amy scoffed. "You have absolutely no way of knowing that. It could have been better...it could have been worse. I don't know and neither do you. We only know what did happen. If we dwell on what ifs...we'll be miserable. Trust me...I speak from experience."

Steve finally picked up his head and looked at Amy. His eyes were red and his face was wet from tears. Amy went from running her fingers through his hair to wiping tears off his face.

"How is it that we can solve each other's irrational fears, but we can't solve our own?" Steve asked.

"I don't know...but I guess that means we're good for each other?" Amy smiled even though it hurt her face.

"Perfectly complementary." Steve took her hand and kissed it.

"I just wish everyone else saw that," Amy said sadly.

"You mean like your mother? The woman who called me lascivious and lecherous and a….Casanova? No...Lothario. They all started with L."

"She's never even met you!"

"No, but she knows I put some kind of spell on you and turned you into a lovesick fool."

"My own mother called me a fool? How nice. Although she's not completely wrong...I mean, you must have put some kind of spell on me for me to fall in love with you so quickly."

"Are you complaining?"

"Not even a little."

"I hope you know that despite whatever your mother thinks...I honestly do love you. I'm not just infatuated or captivated by your beauty, and I'm not just trying to seduce you."

"You couldn't possibly be captivated by my beauty now, so you must love me," Amy said, lightening the mood.

Steve chuckled. "You do look...very sore. But you're still beautiful."

"You lie...but I appreciate it."

"I am not lying. The bruises will heal, as will the bones. When they do, you'll still be the stunning woman I found myself enamored with while sitting in a police car in a cemetery."

"And who ended up causing you to screw up the whole thing." She smiled slyly at Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll never live that one down."

"Only in your own mind. I'm glad things turned out the way they did."

"You're glad you got shot?" Steve gave her a confused look.

Amy rolled her eyes. "No! I'm glad I walked away that day with the best friend a girl could ask for."

Steve looked in Amy's eyes. "Would it hurt too much if I kissed you?"

"Probably, but try it anyway."

Steve leaned over and, as gently as humanly possible, placed his lips on hers.

"There you go again, making me forget I'm in pain...just like that very first day," Amy said when Steve pulled away from her.

"Glad I could help." He smiled at her while very cautiously wiping some stray tears off her cheeks.

He then continued. "Let's make a plan to forget about your mother and live how we want. I recently had a talk with a couple of wise and well-meaning people who reminded me that your mother has no say in how we feel - no one does. They don't know us! The two of us are the only ones we have to prove anything to, okay? If other people don't like our relationship...to hell with them. They're probably jealous anyway."

Amy smirked. "I've never been the one to make anyone jealous before. That might be kind of nice." She chuckled.

Steve smiled at her. "We'll make them green with envy."

"Okay. But I'm still sorry all this happened."

"So am I...but it's over. Paul is dead, and once we get out of here, we can move on with our lives."

"I'm not sure my mother will allow that," Amy uttered dolefully. "And she's gone off the deep end. I'm kind of afraid of what she'll do. Mike is too I think."

Steve shook his head. "You're making her sound like a criminal mastermind. I doubt she has the power or resources to do anything to either one of us. She can run her mouth all she wants; whatever her goal was with you - she burned that bridge to the ground."

"She wants me back in LA with her. She wants me to take care of her. That's what she told me when I moved up here and she's never changed."

"Ohh...so that's it. That's why she hates me so much; I'm taking you away from her. You've always been her little girl. She took care of you and you took care of her...in a manner of speaking anyway. But now I'm here, and I'm replacing her as the person who takes care of you. That also eliminates you being able to take care of her."

Amy looked at him like he was spouting off psychobabble.

"Your father died, getting rid of him as her main source of support and comfort. The stress and anxiety of that made her do over-the-top things to keep you, her secondary source, around. Anxious people do that sometimes in an effort to feel better. When you didn't comply, she went even further overboard. Basically, we're just not dealing with a well woman."

"You don't think someone like that could be pushed into doing something dangerous or illegal?"

Steve shrugged. "Not with the proper help."

"Proper help? Like an asylum?"

"If that's what's best...yes. Do you want your mother to be back to the person she was before?"

Amy stared at Steve for a while, not sure what to think. "I didn't realize you were a cop and a psychiatrist."

Steve chuckled. "I blame Lenny."

"Who's Lenny?"

"The department psychologist. I've talked to him too many times I guess."

"Oh." She lay quiet, still holding Steve's hand.

He got tired of the silence after a bit, so he asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. No one wants to admit that their mother is insane...but you do make a good point. I just don't know when the last time she was completely sane was. Probably before we moved next door to Paul." She shook her head. "That was so long ago. I was still a kid...around Jasmine's age. Hey, where is she?"

"Jasmine? With Lois."

"I thought she was with you?"

"She was for a while this morning, but then Mike had Lois come and get her so that I could spend the rest of the day talking about the shooting and my feelings," Steve muttered testily.

"Your feelings?"

"Apparently I'm snappy and emotional, and everyone thinks there's something wrong with me. Doctors think I might have a mild case of Post Concussion Syndrome and it's messing up my mind. They don't seem to get that I'm just worried about you."

Amy looked at him, concern written all over her face.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. I just hate being stuck up there while you're down here and if you need me, I can't just come down and be with you. Plus, there's nothing I can do about Jasmine…" Steve quickly trailed off, realizing he hadn't even brought up Jasmine's custody battle yet.

"What about Jasmine? What's wrong with her? Is she okay?" Amy asked in her best panicked mother tone.

Steve sighed.

"You have bad news, don't you?" Amy's voice waivered as tears built up in her eyes.

Steve squeezed her hand between the two of his hands. "I don't know that for certain."

"Just tell me, please? I've heard enough bad news lately that more really isn't going to make that much of a difference."

Steve paused to gather his courage. "There is a meeting tomorrow concerning who gets custody of Jasmine."

"What do you mean, who gets custody? I get custody! She's not going to want to live with another foster family!"

Steve could tell Amy was not only getting worked up emotionally, but physically as well. He worried this would do her more harm than good, so he tried to calm her down. "Sweetheart, don't get upset already, okay? Please?"

He reached over and started caressing her cheek. "I know it hurts, but take a couple deep breaths. I'll breathe with you."

The two took a few deep breaths together, Amy showing the pain of it on her face.

"Pain always has made a good distraction," Amy said. "That's dirty pool though."

"I do what I have to. I need you to listen to everything I say before you start protesting, alright?"

Amy nodded, still working through the pain of having to take deep breaths that her ribs were against.

"Jasmine has a great aunt in Arizona that Lois had initially called. It took the woman awhile to get back to her, but she did...and she's willing to take care of Jasmine."

"What? They can't take her to Arizona!" Amy protested.

Steve cleared his throat, reminding Amy that she just did what she wasn't supposed to do.

"Sorry. Go on."

"We all know what you're thinking, because we were all thinking it too. This woman is a blood relative, so what chance do we stand, right? But...Mike has some tricks up his sleeve."

"He does?" Amy asked softly.

"Mmm hmm. He's friends with a judge in juvenile courts, and he talked to her and told her the entire situation, even that Jasmine has never heard about nor met this woman who wants to take custody of her. Her name is Judge Cox, and she is going to come interview you about Jasmine. She'll then stand in for you at the meeting since, obviously, you can't be there."

"Will that work?"

"I honestly don't know, but why not try? Judge Cox is not one to back down from a challenge...or go by the book. If it works, we should try it."

"I can't lose her, Steve. Not again. She'll never recover from this. And you say she doesn't even know this aunt? How could the court possibly do that to her?"

"When Judge Cox comes to talk to you, you make sure she knows what kind of relationship you two have and that Jasmine needs some familiar faces in her life. Anything to make this other judge realize that sending Jasmine away would only make things worse."

Amy nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Steve smiled. "I know you will. Your love for that girl is one of the things I love most about you."

The compliment warmed Amy's heart. "Right back at ya, Handsome. Who would have thought that a guy like you would get wrapped around a little girl's finger so quickly? It's very sweet."

"A guy like me? What does that mean?" Steve tried to act upset, but Amy saw right through the charade.

"Well you never exactly struck me as Mr. Mom," she started to explain.

"Me either," Mike interjected as he walked into the room.

"Oh yeah? Well I'll show you two." Steve looked up at Mike. "You're not kicking me out, are you?"

"No, not yet. Lois just came back with Jasmine." Mike looked at Amy. "You think you can handle more company?"

Amy yawned, but nodded.

Steve stood up slowly. "Tell you what, Babe. Why don't you close your eyes for a little bit, and then we'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Why? Where are you going?" Amy asked suspiciously. She kept a hold on his hand so he couldn't walk away.

"I just want to talk to Jasmine first."

"Why? What are you going to tell her?"

Steve sat back down. "Sweetheart...don't take offense to this, but I don't want her to be scared when she sees you. I just want to prepare her, that's all."

Thinking that she could scare her own child, Amy started crying.

Mike gave Steve a look that said, _Way to go, Buddy Boy_.

"I didn't word that very well," Steve admitted. "It's not that you're going to scare her, it's just...she's worried that you're going to die and leave her. If she sees how you look, she's going to think you _are_ dying. I just want to tell her that you may look bad, but you're going to be fine. That's all. Trust me, Amy, she's going to be thrilled to see you. She misses you."

He sat and held her hand until she had transitioned into intermittent tears instead of a continuous stream of them.

"Okay...I see your point. Go tell her I'm not dying," Amy finally said, letting go of Steve's hand.

He stood up once again, leaned over, and tenderly kissed her on the forehead. He then followed Mike out of her room and down the hall to a waiting area where Lois and Jasmine were sitting. Steve sat down on the closest chair and Jasmine ran over to him.

"Can we see Mommy now?" she asked, jumping up and down in excitement.

"In a minute. Sit down," he told her, patting the seat of the chair next to him.

Jasmine climbed onto the chair and looked at Steve.

"You know what Mommy looks like, right?" Steve said to Jasmine.

She laughed. "That's a silly question."

"It is...but, well...Mommy looks a little bit different than she did before."

Jasmine looked confused. "She does?"

Steve nodded. "Her face is bruised...and she has a couple bandages."

"Bruised. Like when your skin turns all purple and green when someone hits you? My skin did that when my other mom hit me."

Steve closed his eyes in an effort to curb his temper. It made him sick that she knew about bruises mostly because she'd been given several of them by her own mother.

"Yeah, well she was hit pretty hard...and her face is kind of green and purple. Her leg is also in a cast of sorts, as is her wrist. She just looks pretty bad, but she's going to be fine. I don't want you to look at her and think she's going to die, because she's not. She's feeling a lot better than she did before. Do you understand?"

Jasmine sat quiet for a moment and then nodded. "I know what she needs."

Steve looked at her quizzically. "You do?"

"Yep." She hopped off the chair and took Steve's hand. "Come on, Daddy, let's go."

Steve stood up and let Jasmine drag him down the hall.

"What's her room number?" she asked.

"Three-twelve," Steve answered.

"Twelve...that's a one and a two, right?"

Steve smiled. Maybe he had a few things to learn about kids. "Yeah. Three-one-two."

Jasmine looked at all the numbers until she found 312. "I found it!" she proudly announced before dragging Steve into the room.

After walking into the room, Jasmine stopped cold when she saw her mother's body in the bed. Steve had told her she looked bad, but this was not what she expected. Jasmine just stood and stared.

Steve stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Is she…" was all the little girl said.

"She's probably asleep. She gets very tired. Why don't we go sit over here?" Steve guided her over to the right side of the bed and to the chair. He told her to sit down, which was not an easy task given that she couldn't seem to take her eyes off Amy.

After she was in the chair, Steve pushed it as close as he could to the bed. He then leaned over and whispered to Amy.

"Sweetheart...wake up. Jasmine's here."

Amy stirred. "Was I asleep?" she asked, looking all around the room.

"Yeah. Look who's here?" Steve said, pointing to Jasmine.

Amy turned her head and looked at Jasmine, who sat in the chair with a worried expression on her face. Amy put her hand out to her daughter.

"Hey, Princess. I am so happy to see you!"

Jasmine took Amy's hand. "Hi, Mommy," she answered quietly. "Daddy told me you looked bad."

"He's right; I do look bad."

"Your face looks like my back did."

"I know," Amy said, squeezing Jasmine's hand.

"You still look like you, though."

Amy smiled. "Thank you, Sweetheart."

"Why is your leg up in the air like that?" Jasmine asked, pointing.

"It's broken. So's my wrist," Amy explained, holding up her left arm.

"Can I sign your cast?"

"Soon. How are you?" she asked her daughter as Mike walked in the room.

"Okay. I stayed last night at Grandpa's house and played with some of Aunt Jeannie's old toys. That was fun."

"Grandpa?" Amy asked, unaware that Jasmine had adopted Mike.

Jasmine pointed to Mike. Amy turned her head to see Mike standing at the end of the bed.

"Oh. Sorry, Mike. I didn't realize she'd adopted you into the family. I need to catch up. And Jeannie's your daughter, right?"

Mike nodded.

"I got to talk to her on the phone," Jasmine told Amy. "She lives in another state. I've never talked to someone in another state before."

"Well, that was nice." Amy turned to Mike. "How'd she come to stay at your house?"

"I made Lois realize that maybe staying with someone she was a little more familiar with might be better than staying with her."

"She was going to stay with Lois?" Amy seemed highly confused.

"They wouldn't let her stay here with me," Steve said, annoyed. He slowly walked over to the easy chair that sat in the corner of the room and sat down.

Mike shook his head at Steve's attitude. "We had fun though! It was nice having company!"

"Thank you," Amy told Mike. "That was very sweet of you."

"I made a picture for you of my whole family!" Jasmine told Amy happily, but her exuberance soon turned sour. "But I left it in Daddy's room." She frowned.

"I bet if you ask Grandpa real nice, he'll go up and get it for you," Steve told her.

Jasmine turned to Mike and batted her eyes. "Please, Grandpa? The one I showed you yesterday!"

Mike laughed at her plea. "I'll be right back." He headed out the door.

"Where did you learn to bat your eyes like that when asking for something?" Steve asked her, also amused.

Jasmine pointed to Amy and then demonstrated again. "See? I do it as good as you."

Amy chuckled and then winced.

"Mother of the year material right there, Amy," Steve joked.

"You're not funny," she told him. "Hey, you never told me where they found her."

"You really want to hear that story?" Steve asked her, doubtful it would be a wise idea. "Maybe later. We have something else that's just as depressing to discuss."

"What's that?" Amy asked.

"Tomorrow," Steve told her.

Amy groaned. "Do we have to?"

"Yes, because they're going to want her there so she can plead her case. She should know what's going on."

"What are you guys talking about?" Jasmine asked.

"Princess, do you remember when Grandpa asked you if you knew anyone in Arizona named Beatrice?" Steve asked Jasmine.

"That name is still funny," was all she said.

"Yeah, it is. Well, Beatrice is the name of your great aunt...and she wants you to come live with her."

Jasmine's eyes grew double their size. She squeezed Amy's hand tightly. "I have to go live in Arizona?" she shrieked. "I live with you guys!"

"Sweetie, look at me," Amy told the frightened girl. "Let me explain something to you."

Jasmine anxiously held Amy's hand and fixated on her face as she spoke.

"As far as the law is concerned, you have no parents since your dad is gone and your mother is in jail. And the law says you have to have parents, so for kids like you whose first parents can't be their parents anymore, the law has a judge give you new parents. Are you following so far?"

"Someone is going to give me parents? I don't need new parents. You are my parents," Jasmine huffed.

"I wish it were that easy, but besides Steve and me, this aunt of yours also wants to be your new mom. So tomorrow, a judge is going to decide who you should live with."

"I'll tell that dumb judge who I should live with. I don't need a new family 'cause I picked my own!" Jasmine put a scowl on her face.

"You do get to talk to the judge, but you probably shouldn't say that," Steve muttered.

"She gets a say?" Amy asked, slightly astonished.

Steve nodded.

"Well, see then, Sweetheart, all you have to do is tell the judge that you and me...we've been family for a while now, and you would be happier living with me than someone you've never met," Amy said. "You need to be nice to the judge though. It will be easy."

"Then why are you still scared?" Jasmine asked.

"I'm not scared," Amy said quickly.

"Yes you are. Your hands are shaking. That means you're scared. Why?"

Steve could tell that Amy was having trouble giving Jasmine a reason, so he jumped in. "Jasmine, see, since Mommy is in the hospital, and probably will be for a several days, she won't be able to take care of you right away. This judge...they're going to want to have you live with someone who can take care of you right now."

"I'll stay here. I can spend part of the day with you, and part of the day with Mommy," Jasmine told Steve.

"You can't live in a hospital," Steve said, wishing her idea was actually feasible.

"You guys are!"

He couldn't disagree with her logic. "Yeah, but we're sick. You're not. You have to be sick to live at the hospital."

Jasmine sat quietly, thinking. "Then I'll stay with Grandpa! Jeannie's room is nice."

"The judge won't let you do that," Amy said sadly.

"Why not?" Jasmine asked angrily.

Amy sighed. "This is really hard to explain, but...they'll only let you stay with me or your aunt…" She had no idea what else to say.

Jasmine let go of Amy's hand and folded her arms over her chest. She was still scowling. "No one is gonna make me go! I hate my old family! All of them! They're all mean and evil! I won't go!" she screamed.

After her outburst, she jumped out of the chair and hid under the bed.

"Jasmine, what are you doing?" Steve asked, figuring he already knew the answer. He was irritated at her behavior, yet didn't blame her one bit.

"If they can't find me, they can't take me anywhere," she answered.

"This is what she does when she gets mad or doesn't get her way," Amy explained. She then turned her attention to Jasmine.

"Jasmine Dawn, you get out from under this bed right this minute! If you want to stay with me, you can't throw fits like this," Amy said sternly.

"Why not?"

"Because if you act like this, they'll send you to Arizona for sure. They won't listen to you at all unless you're a good girl. The judge won't listen to a little girl who's being a brat, and he'll make sure you don't get to stay here."

Jasmine hurriedly scurried out from under the bed. "I'll be good," she mumbled.

"Come back over here," Amy said.

Jasmine did as she was told. She stood next to the bed, and Amy took her face in her hand.

"I know you're scared. You've been through a lot lately. You've been with so many strangers and I haven't been there to protect you. I'm sorry about that...but you know that acting out like this is not a good idea. It makes Mommy sad when you act that way."

"You won't send me away, will you?" Jasmine had quite a bit of terror in her voice.

"You know I won't! I'm not like them! That's why you and I always stuck together, and we still will. We will stick together and make sure that this judge knows that we come as a pair. No one can pull us apart, especially people from your old family! Tomorrow, when the judge asks you about me, or about your old parents...you tell him the truth. You tell him how you felt living in that house and how you feel with me, okay?"

Jasmine nodded.

"I will try…" Amy got choked up. "I will try everything I can to keep you with me. I promise. You do the same."

The two girls began crying, so Steve decided that everyone had had enough of this topic. He stood up and walked over to the bed.

"You know, I bet Mommy is pretty tired, and you're probably hungry," he said to Jasmine. "What do you say we go back to my room and let Mommy sleep?"

Mike, who had been standing outside the door listening in, walked in the room. "I think that's a good idea. Judge Cox will be by in a couple hours, so we should all let Amy rest a bit first."

"No...you guys don't have to leave!" Amy suddenly felt anxious at the thought of being alone.

"You need sleep," Steve told her.

Mike handed Jasmine the picture she drew.

"Look, Mommy. I drew our family. There's me and you and Daddy and Grandpa and Jeannie," Jasmine explained, pointing to each person.

Amy looked at the drawing. "Everyone looks happy."

"We are. We're a happy family. And there's no dumb aunts from Arizona in there."

Amy looked at the picture a moment longer. "You know what? I want you to take this picture and show it to the judge tomorrow. Show him your family."

Steve and Mike exchanged glances. Jasmine nodded. Mike then decided to leave Steve and Amy alone to say their goodbyes, so he had Jasmine say goodnight to Amy. She was highly reluctant until Mike not only promised that she'd see her tomorrow, but also that she could go have anything she wanted from the cafeteria and eat it in Steve's room. Agreeing to the plan, the two started to take their leave, but Jasmine stopped Mike and went back to Amy's side.

"Tomorrow, we'll get some ice cream and watch silly movies on TV, okay? That will make your bruises feel better," Jasmine told her mom, smiling.

Amy smiled back. "It's a date, Princess. Go get some food with Grandpa, okay? And don't lose that picture."

"I love you, Mommy," Jasmine said as she went back to Mike's side. She took his hand and the two walked out of the room.

Steve sat on the edge of Amy's bed. "Ice cream and silly movies?"

Amy was near tears. "Whenever Janice would…" Her voice started to crack. "I'd pamper her a little. We'd eat ice cream and watch bad movies on TV. It always made her feel better."

"Ohhh...so that's what she meant out there." Steve smiled. "Hey...I'll talk to her later about everything if you want me to...you know, so she knows what to expect tomorrow. She'll be fine though. She's like her Mommy...she's very resilient."

"Yeah, I'm tough as nails...unless the decision doesn't go our way. Steve, she's gotten to the point where she only listens to me...or people who are somehow connected to me, like you and Mike. If she has to go with this...woman...she'll be...she'll either act out or completely shut down. It's how she's learned to cope when I'm not around. She doesn't really trust anyone else, because everyone in her family beat her or ignored her. If I have to let her go...it's going to kill me."

"Tell Judge Cox this. Make sure she knows just what life was like for Jasmine in that house and why she's so reliant on you then."

"But they'll come back with the fact that this woman isn't Janice and there's no proof she'll harm Jasmine."

Steve felt like they were at the point where they were going 'round and 'round with the topic and getting nowhere.

"Look, let's not worry about it until tomorrow. The last thing you need is an ulcer on top of everything else. Why don't you get some sleep so you'll be awake enough for the interview?"

"You'll be here, right?" Amy asked, taking a hold of Steve's hand. "You can tell them what a good home we'll give her."

"Honey, nothing I say will matter anyway. You'd be the only official parent."

Amy tried protesting, but Steve was quick to remind her that as a social worker, she knew all this already.

"They'll never give her to a single, unemployed woman," Amy moaned.

"You don't know that for sure. You have a relationship with her on your side. Just try to remember that." Steve leaned over and kissed Amy on the forehead.

"Don't leave me," she muttered drowsily. "I don't want to be alone."

"If you're asleep, you won't know. Besides, I'm sure I'm going to be in trouble for being down here so long."

He looked over at a small table by the bed. "See that phone?" he said, pointing to it.

Amy turned her head to look.

"Pick it up and dial 416 anytime you feel bad. Even in the middle of the night. Promise?"

Amy nodded. "416." She then closed her eyes and before Steve could say anything else, she was asleep.

"God...you have to let this work out," he said before standing up and leaving the room.


	52. Chapter 52

_**A/N: This one is kind of short. I decided to split a bunch of scenes into multiple chapters instead of a few bigger ones. So I hope you enjoy this little scene while I finish up some others.:)**_

_**I'm probably taking a little narrative license here, but I've never been part of a custody battle, so I did what I could with information I could find. **_

_**And thanks again for everyone who has read since chapter one and keeps coming back! It makes me feel super good to be able to write something that holds people's interests for this long. I've learned a lot on the journey. We're nearing the end, but I may have some other tales under my hat. **_

Around eight o'clock that night, Mike, Millie Cox, and Lois stepped off the elevator onto the third floor. Mike was carrying a portable audio recording device that Millie was going to use to record her interview with Amy. She figured Judge Harding, the man who would preside over the case, would be further persuaded if he heard from Amy herself.

Mike walked into the room first, leaving the ladies in the hallway momentarily. He walked over to the bed and saw that Amy was once again fast asleep. He gently shook her arm, easily stirring her from a shallow sleep.

She looked up at him. "Oh, hi. What's going on?" she muttered, acting slightly confused.

"Judge Cox is here. Do you feel up to talking to her?" Mike asked, concerned that Amy's current state would not lend itself to a successful interview.

Amy squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to regain her thoughts. "Oh...about Jasmine. Right. Sorry, Mike. I can't seem to think straight sometimes."

Mike smiled. "That's completely understandable! You feel okay?"

She opened her eyes. "Yeah. They gave me some pain meds an hour ago, so I feel super...for another couple hours anyway. I'll be fine. Where is she?" Amy asked, looking around and only seeing Mike.

Mike pointed toward the hallway, and then he walked back out to let the ladies know they could come in the room. He had previously warned them of Amy's condition and what she had gone through so that they weren't outwardly shocked when they saw her. It didn't help.

Millie gasped and Lois wanted to cry. "Oh, you poor thing," Millie uttered as she walked toward Amy. She took Amy's good hand in hers. "Mike told us a bit about what you went through, but I have a feeling he spared us some details."

"Amy, this is Judge Millie Cox," Mike said, introducing the two.

Amy smiled. "It's nice to meet you," she said quietly. "Sorry I didn't have a chance to at least put on some makeup." She tried to lighten the mood slightly to ease her own anxieties.

"And you remember Lois McFadden?" Mike asked.

"I am so sorry about everything that has happened. I truly am," Lois said to Amy. She was still standing a ways away from her bed as if she were too ashamed to approach.

"It's not your fault I seem to have a bunch of crazy people in my life. I appreciate you giving Jasmine to me initially though...and for looking out for her now."

"You've always been one of my favorite interns. I really wish you could have stayed on with us."

Amy smiled while Mike had Millie sit down in the chair next to the bed. He then handed her the recorder before plugging it in and having a seat in the easy chair in the corner. Lois took a seat against the opposite wall.

"I assume Mike filled you in on some of the details about what's going on with Jasmine?" Millie asked, getting right down to business.

"Some aunt wants to take her away to Arizona," Amy said sadly.

Millie nodded. "This whole affair just seems…" She shook her head. "Anyway, since you can't be at the meeting tomorrow to speak for yourself, I asked Judge Harding if it would be alright to have me stand in for you. He agreed, but I thought that it would still help for him to hear your side from you. So I brought this recorder, and I'll record our little talk. He can then listen to it tomorrow. Sound good?"

Amy nodded. "Ask me anything."

Millie grabbed the microphone and set it on the bed close to Amy's head. She then pressed record and began the conversation by stating the purpose for the recording and who was in attendance. She then asked Amy to tell her when she first met Jasmine and the basics of their relationship.

"I first met her in September of 1971," Amy began. "She was almost four, and she was in her father's office at Berkeley. Apparently he couldn't get a sitter or something for her and had to bring her to work. I'd gone into Carl's - that's her father - office to ask him about an assignment he'd recently given. He was either busy helping me or on the phone the entire time, and Jasmine...well, all she wanted was a little bit of her dad's attention. I felt bad for her, sitting on his couch being basically ignored.

"So during his, I don't know, fourth or fifth phone call that he let interrupt our meeting, I went over to Jasmine and started talking to her. We ended up playing dolls. Before that, she seemed like a sad, lonely little girl. After we played together, she became a typical bubbly preschooler. Carl told me later that all Jasmine could talk about for the rest of the day was me, so the next time he needed a babysitter, he asked if I was interested. From that point on, I was pretty much the only one who ever watched her. Any time they would find someone else to sit with her, she'd act up and the person would refuse to come back. I guess that was her way of making sure I was the only one who took care of her."

"How long were you her primary babysitter?" Millie asked.

"Until December of '73, when I graduated and they hired me to be her full-time nanny. While I was in school though, I was over there almost as much. When I was able, I took her to school, I picked her up, I took her to her various lessons and such...I even took her to the park and out shopping. She never got to do any of those things with her parents because they were either too busy or, in the case of her mother, didn't want to take her anywhere."

"Her mother didn't want to take her places?" Millie asked, seeking further clarification.

Amy shook her head. "No. She flat out told me she didn't want to. Her attitude was that dragging a child around was detrimental to one's social life. Being social was the most important thing in Janice Duncan's life - her child was not. Jasmine was important to me, so I stepped in and became a surrogate mother."

"What was the most important thing in Carl's life?"

"His work." Amy snorted. "I always used to admire how much he cared about the kids he helped. I was completely blind to the fact that at the same time he was helping them, he was ignoring his own daughter."

"What was Jasmine's home life like, from your perspective?" Millie inquired.

"Terrible. I mean, on the surface, it seemed privileged. She grew up in a mansion in Sea Cliff. She went to a private all-girls school. She had a room bigger than some people's houses. But from the first moment I met her, I could tell it was all a façade. She was lonely. All she really wanted was a mom and a dad who showed her some affection. Instead, they bought her anything she wanted, thinking material possessions would be a decent replacement. If they would have found out what happened last Christmas...they would have been very shocked...and probably angry."

"What happened?"

"Carl and Janice gave her half a toy store's worth of stuff. I gave her a choice of places we could go for a weekend getaway. She loved my gift; she chose to go down to LA and spend the weekend on the beach. Nothing material - just the two of us on the beach. Then she chose to give away every single present her parents had given her to homeless children. She honestly couldn't have cared less about the stuff. It didn't make her happy, and it didn't change the way her parents treated her, so she decided to give it away in the hopes that it would make other kids feel good. I was very proud of her. I wanted to tell Carl and Janice about it - make them see what a great child they have - but Jasmine wouldn't let me. All she cared about was how I felt. I think she'd given up caring about them, I honestly do. I think she was sadder at her father's funeral because she didn't think I was there than she was because he was dead."

"Jasmine did not have a good relationship with her family?"

"Her relationship with Carl was okay...he was just distant and never had time for her. He'd get annoyed an awful lot when she'd try to get his attention though. He'd shoo her out of his office all the time, but it wasn't that he yelled at her a lot or anything. He just didn't show her that she was the most important thing in his life. She may be only six, but she's no dummy. She could see what was going on, especially when she'd see him with other kids. He'd play with the shelter kids and give them hugs...never did any of that with her. And she was actually his!"

"What do you mean by that?" Millie asked, finding the way Amy spoke the statement curious.

"She was biologically Carl's but not Janice's."

"Really?" Millie looked over at Lois. "Were you aware of this?"

Lois shook her head. "I'm pretty sure that's not in the file." She got into her briefcase to double check the information they had on the family.

"They didn't make it public. I only know because I overheard them talking about it a couple times. From what I could piece together, she was the product of an affair he had with one of his students from Berkeley. She left the baby at their doorstep and left town. No idea who she is. Janice insisted on taking Jasmine in as their 'adopted' daughter because anything else would cause a scandal." Amy paused. "But Janice never loved her. Not even a little."

"Lois, do find out if this was an official adoption or not," Millie told the social worker.

Lois nodded as she continued to look through papers.

Amy started tearing up. Millie reached over and grabbed a tissue off the table next to the bed. She handed it to Amy who took it and gingerly blotted tears off her face.

"Sorry. Thinking about how Janice treated Jasmine makes me mad and then I start crying."

"Anyone can understand that," Millie assured her. "Describe how Janice treated Jasmine."

"Janice Duncan treated that girl like...like...I can't even describe it. Badly. She yelled at Jasmine for no reason - and when I say yelled, I mean screamed. Any time there were people over, she'd lock Jasmine in her room. Like, physically lock the door."

Amy snickered. "She turned her daughter into a lock picker. Jasmine eventually, somehow, managed to learn how to pick the lock and get out. She never got caught, thankfully."

"She sounds like an ingenious little girl," Millie commented.

Amy smiled. "She's very smart. It's a good thing, considering how much coping she had to do. Between the mental and physical abuse inflicted upon her by her mother, she had to be smart in order to handle the pain."

"What else did Janice do to Jasmine besides yell and lock her away?" Millie asked.

"She called her names...she ignored her...one time I saw her throw a vase at Jasmine...and she hit her. Several times."

"There was an investigation into that," Lois interrupted.

"I have photos of it, too," Amy said. Millie could see that all this talk of abuse was upsetting Amy greatly.

"How did you know about this abuse? Were you the one who made the complaint?"

"I saw it...I heard it...Jasmine told me. And yes, I called them the second Jasmine finally told me about everything Janice did behind my back. She was scared to tell me at first. I don't know why, but she was. That poor girl's skin...bruised. Janice was clever; she'd hit her where either the skin was covered by clothes or in places where kids usually get bruised, like her legs. It fooled me for a while. I felt so bad that I didn't notice it earlier.

"Jasmine's demeanor completely changed every time she had to spend too much time with her mother, like over the weekends. She'd either become overly skittish or outright bratty. After I figured out why, I became the only person Jasmine would listen to. I was the only one who could get through to her." She took a moment to work through some tears. "I'm still the only one. Well, besides Steve and Mike."

"Steve and Mike?" Millie asked, more for the benefit of the recording.

"Inspector Keller and Lieutenant Stone. Steve is my boyfriend and Mike is his partner, so they're related to me in a way. She'll listen to people who have a connection to me; she won't listen to anyone else. She doesn't trust people anymore, especially people in her own family. Can you really blame her?" Amy tried to sniff, but it hurt too much.

"Ms. McFadden, what was the result of that child abuse investigation?" Millie asked Lois.

"The claim was deemed unfounded," Lois told her. "However, the person we sent out to investigate was Sylvia Travers, who we later found out was taking bribes...and now she's…?"

"A murder victim," Mike said. "Our boys found her in a parking lot near Pier 70."

"Our boss is working with the police to dig up evidence that she was taking bribes to make cases come out certain ways," Lois added. "So all her investigations are under suspicion at this point."

Millie paused the recorder for a moment so she could think. She watched Amy struggle to keep her emotions at bay and knew that the poor woman had a true love for the little girl. She wished she'd been assigned this case but was determined to see it come out the right way.

She began recording again. "I know this has been hard, Amy. I want to ask you one last thing - why would it be in Jasmine's best interest to live with you?"

Amy didn't even take a second to think. "I'm the one person in this world that she trusts...and the one person who truly loves her. I know she's not biologically mine, but I love her like she was. I know her like a real parent should...and I know that if she has to go live in a state she's never been to with a woman she's never met, she'll shut down. She'll either act out or retreat into her own little world. It won't be good for her, I know it won't."

At this point, Amy was crying and pleading. "I love her and don't want to lose her."

Millie thought it best to end the interview at this point; she felt she had enough to convince even the most cold-hearted judge. She stopped the recording and had Mike unplug the machine.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start crying. Did I ruin everything?" Amy asked anyone who would answer.

"No, not at all!" Millie told her. "I'd be far more concerned if you showed no emotion. You're pleading for the well-being of a child here! You should be emotional! I promise you that I will do everything I can, okay?" Millie took her hand again and gave it a squeeze.

Amy looked up at the older lady. "Thank you so much," she whispered. She then turned to Lois, who was gathering her things and standing up. "And thanks to you too. Don't feel bad about anything that has happened, alright?"

Lois simply smiled and nodded, still feeling too awful about the circumstances to say much to Amy.

After a few more pleasantries, the ladies went to the hallway to wait for Mike to walk them out. Amy looked at him sadly.

"Did I blow that?" she asked in all seriousness.

Mike took her hand. "Not at all! I agree with Millie; showing emotion just proves that you truly love Jasmine."

"I really do," she said quietly. "Thanks for setting this up. I don't know what I'd do without you and Steve."

"Well I doubt you'll have to find out. You get some sleep now, okay? Jasmine is with Steve right now watching TV, but I'll take her home soon. Don't worry about them."

"You know what's funny?" she said as Mike started to walk away.

"What's that?"

"If it weren't for Paul, none of this would have ever come out. He did so many terrible things...but he helped get Jasmine out of that house."

"See? Sometimes there is a rainbow after a hurricane. Keep thinking about that aspect, okay? We'll all get through this."

Amy nodded and closed her eyes. Mike gave her hand a squeeze and then gently placed a kiss on her forehead. He couldn't bear to think about how everyone would feel if this mess didn't work out in their favor.


	53. Chapter 53

_**Again, pretty short (under 2000 words, which is almost unheard of for me lol). Happy New Year, everyone!**_

* * *

An older nurse with short blonde hair stepped off the elevator and onto the third floor at around ten. As she passed the nurses' station, one younger nurse looked up to see who was walking down the hall at the late hour. Seeing it was one of her colleagues, she smiled and went back to her work.

The older nurse soon entered room 312 and found the patient asleep. Dr. Conrad had raised Amy's bed thirty degrees after Judge Cox had left, so now she was no longer in a fully supine position. The nurse grabbed a syringe out of one of the pockets of her uniform. Upon disconnecting the saline drip from the IV cannula in Amy's arm, the nurse administered the serum into her bloodstream and then quickly replaced the saline line. She dropped the empty syringe back into her pocket and walked to the phone. Picking up the receiver, she quickly dialed an in-house number and told the person on the other end to come up to the room.

Upon slamming the phone down, which she did purposely, she looked over and saw Amy stirring. Amy threw open her eyes and stared alarmingly at the ceiling. The lady put her hand gently on Amy's right arm, which caused her to flinch and jerk her head to the right.

"Are you okay?" the lady asked in a southern drawl.

Amy, who was still trying to work through being scared awake, narrowed her eyes. "Mom?" she asked. To her, the nurse looked like Margaret - and she was underwater. "Mom? Are we drowning? I don't want to save you."

"Honey, I'm not..."

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you? You're trying to ruin everything. You're a stupid, jealous bitch," Amy growled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the southern nurse muttered.

Amy then began laughing. "You're jealous. You're jealous of your own daughter!" She started laughing hysterically, completely oblivious to the abdominal pain the laughter was causing.

"Jealous?"

"Yeah. Jealous 'cuz I have a boyfriend and you don't!" She started hitting the woman's arm. "And...he's hot! Didn't think I could land a stud like that, did ya, Bitch?" she bragged, sticking out her tongue.

At that moment, a man in a white lab coat walked in the room.

"What the hell took you so long?" Margaret, dropping the phony accent, asked angrily.

"It's only been a minute, Mrs. Johnson. Calm down. This will work out," the man told her. He then looked over at Amy, who had gone from yelling and hitting to reaching up at the sky with her fingers.

"So pretty…" she whispered. "The stars are so colorful! Weee!"

"Honey," Margaret said, again with the fake drawl, "those aren't stars. That's the ceiling."

"No...that's heaven. All the beautiful people are in heaven. I want to be in heaven."

"You _want_ to be in heaven? Why?" the man asked, confused.

"Because no bad people are up there. All the bad people are down here." Amy paused before shouting, "Rainbows! We're being swallowed up by rainbows!"

She tried sitting up. She made it part of the way up before her mother stopped her and pushed her back down.

"Let me out of here!" Amy growled while thrashing about. She sounded more like she was possessed by an evil being than herself. "The rainbows will eat me alive! You want them to kill me, don't you?!"

"What the hell is she talking about?" the man asked Margaret, who was still holding Amy down. "Are you sure you don't need a priest?"

Margaret looked at the man disapprovingly. "Now you see why I called you about the Power of Attorney? She's clearly incapable of making her own decisions. That concussion did some major brain damage."

"The exact wording on the POA is that Amy must be mentally unfit to make her own decisions. This includes such things as severe depression and anxiety, suicide attempts, delusions, and purposely putting herself in harm's way," the man explained.

"She's talking about rainbows eating her. That's not delusional enough for you?" Margaret questioned asking this particular attorney to assist her. "I'm beginning to wonder what my husband saw in you."

The lawyer ignored the insult and looked at Amy. "Amy? Amy, my name is Bryan. Can I ask you a couple questions?"

"Doctor Bryan!" she blurted before hitting him in the arm with her cast. She didn't even flinch.

Bryan did, as she hit him quite hard. He rubbed his left arm before continuing on. "Yes, I am a doctor. Amy, do you know where you are?"

She looked around the room. "My bedroom? Although I don't know why you are all in here." She began giving them both suspicious looks.

"What bedroom is that?" Bryan asked.

"The one at home? Where else are bedrooms?" Her eyes were darting back and forth.

"And where is home?"

"Thousand Oaks. Who are you again? How'd you get in here?"

"It's okay, Darling. He's a friend," Margaret told Amy in her own accent, finally letting go of the girl.

Amy looked at Margaret. "Who are you? Don't touch me!" She tried swatting her mother away.

"Amy, you're in San Francisco," Bryan told her.

She started breathing rapidly. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. "San...San Francisco...that's where I...got attacked. People there are after me!"

"You were attacked in San Francisco?" Bryan inquired. "When?"

Amy just stared off into space and started crying. "Every day! Everyone there is after me! Don't let them get meeeee," she wailed.

"Amy...where would you feel most comfortable? Here in San Francisco, where people are after you, or in Los Angeles, where you're completely safe?" Margaret asked, hoping to push Amy's answer in her favor.

"Oh, Los Angeles, definitely! I know I'll be safe in my tree house with Stevie."

Both Margaret and Bryan just stared at Amy.

"Tree house?" Bryan finally uttered. "And who is Stevie?"

"She never had a tree house...and Stevie is probably that loser she's dating," Margaret sighed, turning her attention back to Amy.

"Honey, you don't want Stevie in your tree house."

"Yes I do! Stevie is the best friend I ever had! He protects me from the bad people. People like my mother! She's out to get me!"

Amy looked fixedly at Margaret. "She wants me dead. My own mother wants me dead...and she sent an assassin to do it. But Stevie saved me, because he's a hero."

"Stevie is not a hero!" Margaret yelped, causing Amy to jump. She took a deep breath. "I have it on good authority that Stevie is the real assassin. He's pretending to be your friend so that when he has your total trust, he can kill you," she explained, much more calmly than before.

"My mother told you to say that, didn't she? Are you one of the assassins? You're here to kill me, aren't you?!" Amy tried to scoot away from her mother, but she didn't get far with her leg stuck in the harness.

Bryan jumped in. "Hey, I'm not an assassin. I don't even know your mother. You can trust me," he told her calmly.

Amy turned her attention to him. "You have to get me out of here then! I need to get back home and into a safe place away from the minions."

"And where would that be?"

"My tree house in LA."

Bryan nodded. "Okay. I'll see what I can do. What you need to do right now is go to sleep. You seem pretty tired."

Amy furiously shook her head. "No! I'm not tired at all! She'll get me if I fall asleep!" She then put her good hand over her eyes. "Why is the room spinning?"

"Because you're tired and need to sleep. The room will stop spinning if you sleep, trust me," Bryan suggested.

Amy kept her hand over her eyes while Margaret and Bryan stood over her, waiting for her to fall asleep.

"Promise me my mom can't get me? Promise me the perimeter is on lockdown," she finally said, not uncovering her eyes.

"The perimeter is secure, I swear," Bryan assured her. "Why don't I turn on the TV and you can watch the late movie, huh? No assassins will get you while you're watching the late movie. Assassins hate late movies."

Amy nodded, so Bryan turned on the TV. A black and white film noir was playing. Amy parted her fingers and seemed satisfied with what she saw, so she put her hand back down and fixated on the television.

Margaret motioned for Bryan to join her out in the hallway. Amy didn't even notice them leave.

"I have to admit...at first I thought you were blowing this out of proportion. I mean, I've never heard of anyone having delusions like that unless they were on drugs. But seeing her now...wow. What the hell happened to her in that house? You said a cop did that?" Bryan said, appalled at the thought.

"He couldn't stand that the woman he'd become obsessed with was in love with another man. He took out his rage on them both. Amy was the lucky one." Margaret became solemn, wiping a crocodile tear away from her eye.

"She was the lucky one?" Bryan asked in disbelief. "Damn. Anyway, it's obvious that she's suffered some kind of brain damage. She clearly cannot make her own medical decisions, and the POA is durable, so you should have no problems taking over. I'll start working on the details the minute I get back to LA."

Margaret looked at her watch. "You better get going then. Your flight leaves soon."

"I'll call you when I get back up here," Bryan told her, turning to walk back down the hall.

She called after him. "Thank you so much for getting this done. It means the world to me...and it would have to Glen as well. I didn't mean what I said in there; Glen chose a good attorney."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Johnson. Glen was a great guy. This will work out just fine," he reassured her before walking back to the elevators.

As he passed the nurses' station, Margaret heard one of the nurses say, "Good evening, Doctor," which made her laugh. The staff was making this too easy.

Before heading out herself, she went back into her daughter's room. Amy was still staring at the television, but she was fighting off a strong case of exhaustion. Her head kept rolling off to the side before she'd straighten it and attempt to stay awake. The drug appeared to be wearing off.

Margaret smiled a sly little smile. "The war is on, Mr. Keller," she whispered.


	54. Chapter 54

Amy awoke with a start and a gasp. Her eyes darted around the room as if they were looking for danger lurking about. She felt like she was lying in a pile of sweat, and her heart was beating rapidly. She had no idea where she was for several seconds, finally coming to the conclusion that she was still in her hospital room. Nothing was the same as it was the last time she'd laid eyes on the room though. The movie she'd fallen asleep to was no longer on, having been replaced by the news. A trace amount of morning light was sneaking in under the curtains, disrupting the darkness she'd gotten used to. All this scared her, making her physically panic. Where had that time gone? What happened during it? She was overtaken by a horrible sense of foreboding.

She knew how she felt at the moment - she'd felt it a hundred times before - and she knew where it was leading. Having no desire to have a panic attack and get sick, she reached over to the table and grabbed the phone. She laid the receiver down on the bed and started dialing the four, then the one...then her mind went blank. What was the last number? Her mind kept telling her six, but was that right? She dialed it anyway, hoping her brain wasn't playing tricks on her.

It rang six times, and Amy's anxiety grew with each ring. Did she dial the wrong number? Was he asleep? Would this bother him? She almost hung up when she heard his voice on the other end.

"Amy, is that you?" Steve asked, sleep evident in his voice.

"Oh thank God. I mean, I'm glad I dialed the right number." She was still not breathing at a normal rate.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" The panic in her voice woke him up instantly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah...I just...I woke up having a panic attack and I don't know why, but I needed to talk to someone or I wouldn't calm down." She was trying hard not to cry.

"Honey...it's okay. Do you want me to come down there?"

"You can't do that. You'll get in trouble. I'll be fine." Feeling suddenly embarrassed, Amy quickly hung up the phone. She took one of the pillows from under her head and held it over her face as she cried. She didn't want anyone to hear her sobs.

A minute later, Steve, wearing a blue terrycloth robe and slippers, exited his room. He looked both ways and saw the corridor empty. He slowly made his way to the elevators. Jenny, who had just started her seven to seven shift, caught him trying to sneak downstairs as she was stepping off the elevator. Initially she demanded he go back to his room, but after giving him a chance to explain, she softened her stance and agreed to take him to Amy's room.

"What's with the pink teddy bear?" she asked on the elevator ride.

Steve looked down at what he was holding and snickered. "It's from my daughter. She got me a blue one and Amy a pink one. They're supposed to keep us company, but I forgot to give Amy hers. It's been keeping me company instead."

Jenny smiled. "Sounds like something my daughter would do. You should give Amy the blue one though."

"Why?"

"Because I'm guessing the pink one is Amy and the blue one is you, right?"

Steve nodded, wondering how she knew that.

"Then you give Amy the blue one. That way, you'll be with her - in bear form - when you can't actually be with her."

"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" Steve admitted.

"Kids are great though, aren't they? You spend so much time taking care of them, realizing in your harried exhaustion that you'll probably only get a fraction of that in return, but then something like this happens and their little gestures, those little things they do to show their concern, are worth a million times more than whatever time and energy you lost caring for them."

Steve looked at the bear and thought about what Jenny had said. Not only did he just refer to Jasmine as his daughter without hesitation, but everything Jenny had just said about kids applied to her. Both nights she'd stayed with Steve, she fussed over him and made sure he was happy and feeling well. Her gesture of wanting to eat ice cream and watch movies with Amy showed how much Jasmine loved her adopted mother as well. He never figured he'd think something like this...but kids were pretty great. Jasmine was anyway. He put the bear in his robe pocket, deciding to surprise Amy with it instead of just giving it to her.

The two walked to room 312. Jenny insisted on walking in with him to make sure Amy was okay. If she was panicking, she might be helped by a sedative. Steve surrendered and let her follow him inside. When they both laid eyes on the bed, their hearts sunk. There lay Amy, perfectly still, with a pillow over her face.

"Oh God!" Steve shouted as he hurried to the bed. Jenny ran to the other side.

Steve promptly pulled the pillow off his girlfriend's face, expecting to see her lifeless eyes staring up at him. Instead, he heard her softly gasp in fright. This caused him to jump as well.

When Amy realized it was Steve, she grabbed the pillow back from him and scolded him for scaring her.

"I scared _you_?! You just took twenty years off my life!" he shouted at her.

Jenny scolded Steve for yelling at Amy, who looked at her boyfriend, startled. Jenny then took the pillow from Amy and placed it back behind her head. "We both saw the pillow over your face and thought maybe you'd…ended it all?"

"Oh! No...no. I just didn't want anyone to hear me crying. I wouldn't…" She started crying again.

Steve gently placed both his hands on her cheeks. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, I am. I just thought, you were in such a panic and then I saw this...I got scared. Please don't cry." He stood there and held her head in his hands until her crying slowed.

"Breathing...hurts," she muttered.

"I'll go get you something for that. I bet it's been awhile since you had anything for the pain anyway." Jenny turned to Steve. "Get her settled down. I'll be back in a while."

"Thanks," he told her as she left the room. He turned his attention back to Amy. "Are you okay now? I'm sorry I thought you'd do that, but…"

Amy tried to chuckle. "I didn't even think about it looking like that. I didn't expect you to come down anyway."

"I almost didn't make it. Fortunately Jenny was the one who caught me. She's okay with bending the rules a little." He smiled.

"I am glad you're here though. Hold my hand," she said in a weak little girl voice.

She was shaking slightly and still crying a bit, so Steve decided the best way to ease her back to calm was not just sitting by her bed holding her hand.

"Scoot over a bit," he told her.

"Huh?"

"Can you scoot over to your right a little?"

She just lay there, unsure. She had hardly moved at all since she'd been in the bed and she wasn't sure how much she could move. Taking a deep breath, she sat up a slight bit and, with her good arm and leg, moved her body an inch to the right.

She groaned. "More?"

"No, that's fine," Steve said as he climbed into the bed, making sure not to disturb the chest tube that was still in Amy's side and draped across the left side of the bed.

"Are you sure this is legal?" Amy asked, honestly worried they'd both get in trouble.

"Legal?" Steve laughed. "It may be against the rules, but it's not illegal. I don't care either way."

He put his arm behind her and around her shoulders. Since there was little room, the two were snuggled up close together. At first, Amy was very uneasy, but that feeling quickly dissipated. Having the man she loved be that close and holding her tight made her feel secure for the first time in days. She didn't care if she did get in trouble - she needed this.

"Now, are you going to kick me out?" Steve joked.

"Not on your life," she said, laying her head on his shoulder. "I wish you could stay all day. I'm tired of being alone with my thoughts."

Steve laid his head on top of Amy's. "I wish I could too. I don't like seeing you sad and anxious." He simply held her for a moment, glad to have the opportunity to get back to a small degree of normalcy.

"So what has you so worried anyway? It must be bad to cause you to shake," he finally inquired.

"I'm cold. I woke up in a cold sweat and now I'm just cold."

Steve wrapped his arm around hers so that his sleeve was covering her bare right arm. "We'll have to get you a robe or something so you don't have to lay around in just the hospital gown." He paused. "You want to tell me about it? Did you have a nightmare?"

Amy paused momentarily. "I really don't know. I mean, I do remember dreaming about something, but it was all a mess of images."

"What do you remember?"

"A doctor was standing over me. There was a nurse, who looked like my mother, except she had short blonde hair." She paused. "Do you think my mother would sneak in here wearing a nurse's uniform?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't think she's that desperate to see you. I don't know how anyone would pull that off anyway. Someone would notice an out of place nurse...I would hope." He was suddenly unsure about his statement. "Anything else?"

"Yeah...you and me in a treehouse."

Steve laughed. "What exactly were we doing in a treehouse?"

"Fighting off rainbows," Amy said, completely straight-faced. "That one I can't explain."

Neither said anything until Steve finally uttered, "That's not even close to what I was thinking. Or as exciting."

"What were you think…Oh!" Amy softly slapped Steve in the stomach with her bad hand.

He laughed. "That's all you remember? That's strange, but at least it wasn't a flashback or something. Don't give it too much thought. It didn't really happen; your brain is just healing."

"You really don't think my mother would try that?"

"Has she ever tried anything like that before? I mean, that's a pretty desperate thing to do - sneaking into a hospital wearing a disguise."

"No...but I didn't think she was capable of anything she has done."

Amy started shivering again. Steve was sure it wasn't solely because she was cold.

"It was just a dream. She's not going to get you while you're in here. Trust me - Mike has done everything possible to make sure that doesn't happen."

She set her left arm on Steve's stomach. "I know. You guys are my heroes."

The two lay for several minutes saying nothing. They were both content to simply be in each other's company.

"Maybe I'm just worried. My mind likes to play tricks on me when I'm really worried."

"About what?"

"Tomorrow. I don't see it going well. I finally get one problem out of my life, but it created another one. And you don't think I'm some kind of jinx."

"You're not. What you are is a pessimist who ended up with several toxic people in her life. That's all there is to it. That's all changed now though. How did the talk with Judge Cox go? Mike said it went well."

"I don't know. I just don't feel like it will be enough. My luck just doesn't go that way."

Steve sighed and kissed the top of her head. He wasn't going to turn a pessimist into an optimist overnight. "You don't know the judge who's presiding over the case. Maybe he's a sympathetic guy and will see how much better off Jasmine will be with you. I'm sure there are plenty of examples of cases where the family lost custody to a non-family member. Blood doesn't define a family; even the law knows that sometimes."

Amy stayed quiet, trying to take what Steve said to heart, calm herself down, and enjoy this little moment of happiness.

"Speaking of blood," Steve started after giving Amy a chance to calm herself. "I've been meaning to tell you this for three days now."

"What's that?"

"Jasmine isn't even Janice's daughter." He waited for a shocked reaction and was shocked himself when he didn't get one.

"I knew that," Amy said quietly.

"You did?! Jasmine said she didn't tell you so that you wouldn't get in trouble. How did you find out?"

"I overheard Janice and Carl arguing about it. Jasmine knew? How did she find out...never mind," Amy said, interrupting herself. "If I overheard it, she probably did too. She overheard everything else. I need to put a stop to that if she comes to live with me."

"When, not if. And us, not you."

Amy lifted her head and looked at Steve for a moment. "When versus if...optimist versus pessimist. I'll give you that one. But Steve...you don't have to throw yourself into the role of father...or caretaker...or whatever you'd be. I've been her mother for two years and I'm fully prepared to keep doing it alone. You…"

She paused, not sure how to say what she felt. "You've known her a week. You've only known me a week. Only two weeks ago, you were a happy bachelor, living life as you pleased. Now you're suddenly ready to take on two orphans without a second thought? That's not fair to you."

"What's not fair to me?" Steve asked, sounding slightly hurt.

"Throwing you into a family you never asked for and making you take care of two needy people. No one should be forced to do that."

Amy looked down and sniffed, telling Steve that she'd hurt her own feelings by saying what she said. He wondered if he'd ever understand why she did that.

"First of all, I never once alluded to the fact that I was somehow happier before I met you two or that I was unhappy having you two around, now did I?"

"No...but…"

"No buts. I am happier now than I was before we met - end of story."

"Even with all the crap I brought with me? The stalker...the crazy mother...the stray child...the emotional roller coaster…"

"Hey, I like roller coasters," Steve said roguishly. "I thought we settled that a couple nights ago."

Amy didn't follow what he was hinting at at first, but once she remembered her tale of Disneyland and what circumstances she'd brought it up under, she started laughing.

"You're a rascal."

"Got your mind off the negativity though, didn't I? See, there's a method to my madness."

"But laughing hurts."

"I'm sorry. It's better than making you cry though." Steve reached over and grabbed the remote for the television, turning it off.

"And as for that 'stray child'," he said, settling back against the bed, "she has this amazing knack for pulling you into her little world and making you love her...even when she makes you play dress up."

Amy laughed again. "She does, doesn't she?"

"Mmm hmm...just like her mom, who pulled me into her little world and made me fall madly in love with her. And I don't mind a bit that they come as a pair, so get all those negative thoughts out of your head. If I minded the new life you've given me, I would have walked away days ago."

"You really don't mind going from party of one to party of three in a week's time?" Amy asked, looking back up at him.

"Not when I get to go to the party with a beautiful woman like you." He leaned over and kissed her, again gently.

"How much does your face still hurt?" he asked, seeing her wince afterward. "I hate thinking I'm hurting you."

"I don't care how much it hurts; don't stop kissing me. Actually, it looks worse than it hurts. Dr. Conrad said the fractures are hairline, so they'll heal faster than everything else. I wish I didn't look like someone's punching bag. I'm surprised you can even stand to look at me long enough to kiss me."

"Oh please. It'll be a cold day in Hell before I don't want to kiss you," he said before placing his lips on hers once again, a little more passionately this time.

Sensing her breathing troubles, Steve pulled away long before he was ready. He gently placed his forehead on hers. "For your sake...I wish you hadn't been Paul's anything." Just the mere mention of what happened to Amy made Steve emotional, so he quickly tried changing the subject.

He sat back. "Oh, I almost forgot." He pulled Princess Amelia out of his pocket. "A little girl I know bought this for you in the hopes that it would make you feel better like Mr. Sniffles helped her feel better. I forgot to give it to you earlier."

Amy took the small pink bear in her right hand. "Oh...it's so cute and soft," she cooed.

"Her name is Princess Amelia. I have her savior, the handsome - and blue - Prince Stefan in my room. I was informed that those are their names because the prince and princess are really you and me."

Amy looked at Steve and smiled. "That little twerp. I told you she's smart."

Steve smiled. "That she is. Before she left last night, she asked me what happened to Stefan and Amelia after he killed the wolf."

"What did you tell her? That they ended up in the kingdom hospital?"

"No. Actually, I let her finish the story."

"You're going to tell it to me, aren't you?" Amy asked, resting her neck on Steve's arm, putting her head back, and closing her eyes.

"Let me see if I can remember exactly what she said." Steve took a moment to think before retelling Jasmine's version of the tale.

_After Prince Stefan killed the wolf, he and Princess Amelia moved into a huge castle that had a pool and a dance studio. They got married in a huge wedding and went to Hawaii on their honeymoon. When they came back, they gave their daughter a pony. The princess frequently invited people from around the kingdom to have tea in the castle, and the prince threw bad guys in jail. The prince and princess soon became king and queen and they lived…_

"Say it with me here," Steve prompted.

"Happily ever after," the two said in unison.

Amy chuckled. "So that's her version of our future, huh?"

"I guess so. It's not bad. I live in a huge castle...I'm throwing bad guys in jail like the hero I am…"

"And you're not at all conceited," Amy interrupted. She smirked at Steve.

"Hey, I'm a prince. I have every right to think I'm great."

"Oh, I see. Then you should say you're a _handsome_ prince. You're far from a regular, homely prince."

"You're absolutely right."

Amy laughed again.

"You know what the best part is though?" Steve rolled over onto his right side so he was fully facing Amy. "I get to be with you, the beautiful queen, forever and ever."

This time it was Amy who leaned in and kissed Steve. She then touched his cheek with her good hand. "I honestly never thought I could love someone as much as I love you. Thanks for proving to me the impossible is possible."

"You just remember that tomorrow when you're worried about the hearing. _Anything_ is possible. Even turning me into a responsible family man." He gave her a wink.

"If I didn't find this so adorable, you'd be in some major trouble, Mister," Jenny said, walking into the room and finding her patient lying in another patient's bed.

Steve turned to see his nurse standing at the end of the bed. "I do have that effect on women," he said, joking. "I make them think I'm an angel."

Amy chuckled.

"Out," Jenny told the angel. He groaned, but did as instructed.

She then walked over to the right side of the bed. She had an ice pack in her hand which she put over Amy's ribs. "This should make you feel a little better. Well, not as good as him, but unfortunately for you, I have to take him with me."

Amy put on a pouty face. "Can't he stay for just a little while longer?"

Jenny shook her head. "Trust me, I empathize. I had complications after my second child and was stuck in the hospital longer than I expected. They kicked my husband out after visiting hours every night, and I simply could not stand lying there all by myself in that sterile, lifeless room. Drove me crazy. What I wouldn't have given to have my husband in the room...or in the bed." She smiled.

Amy smiled weakly, finding herself suddenly overcome by sadness.

"I can, however, let this little guy stay," Jenny said, pulling Prince Stefan out of her pocket.

Amy took the blue bear. "This must be Prince Stefan."

Steve looked at Jenny and smiled. "That's him." He looked at Amy, who had both bears lying on her stomach. "Why don't you keep him, and I'll take the princess. That way we're never without each other."

"I like that idea. Hopefully she doesn't keep you awake complaining and moping and crying," Amy said, handing Steve the pink bear.

"She doesn't do all that, does she?" he asked sarcastically. "I just hope she doesn't snore."

"I don't snore!" Amy said, genuinely insulted.

"Oh, everyone makes weird noises in their sleep. Get used to it," Jenny said honestly. "Right now, you need to get some sleep because I hear you have a long day of tests and x-rays," she said to Amy.

"And you also have some x-rays in a few hours, so we should get back upstairs. Maybe...if you're good, I'll sneak you back down here this afternoon," she told Steve.

"I promise I'll be on my best behavior, Mom," Steve told her, holding his hands up in surrender.

She turned to Amy. "It was nice to meet you after hearing so much from him. It's was all good, I swear."

Amy smiled.

"You say goodbye and I'll be in the hallway. Two minutes!" she warned Steve before walking out the door.

Steve sat down on the side of the bed and took both of Amy's hands in his. "Promise me something, okay?"

Amy nodded.

"That you will try your hardest today to think positively and smile. Jasmine will be fine, the hearing will come out in our favor, and we'll get to live our happily ever after." He smiled.

Anytime Steve smiled at her, she couldn't help feeling okay about everything, whether her brain wanted to believe it or not. "I promise to try. I really do."

"Good," he said, giving her another kiss.

"You really don't think my mother would try something like that?" she asked as he stood up and began to walk away.

"Your mother is…" He shook his head, not knowing how to say she was insane, something he really didn't want to say to her daughter. "She's not that resourceful. She's just a desperate mother. It was just a bad dream."

Amy nodded, let go of his hands, and watched him walk out of the room with Princess Amelia. She set Prince Stefan on her shoulder and leaned her head on him, using him as a pillow.

"I sure hope that's all it was," she whispered, closing her eyes.


	55. Chapter 55

_**A/N: Okay, for those keeping score at home, I am aiming to be at the finish line by chapter 60 or 62 (it's looking more like 62, but who knows?) So be on the lookout for that.**_

_**However...I can't end without throwing in some more curve balls and landmines. ;) **_

Amy woke up again around ten o'clock and saw a nurse checking her vitals and IV. The older lady apologized for waking her up and promised to be quick, but after the night she'd had, Amy was grateful for some company. After the nurse made Amy do some deep breathing and coughing, she applied more ice to Amy's ribs at the patient's request; it had helped immensely after Jenny had given her ice earlier.

Her midsection felt extra sore and she still couldn't figure out why; it's not like the doctor had come in and made her sit up overnight, and she was pretty sure it wasn't from Steve making her laugh. The fact that most of the night was a complete blank bothered Amy more than she wanted to admit. Not wanting to be alone, she and the nurse chatted for several minutes until the lady had to leave to check on more patients.

After she left, Amy lay in the bed staring at the ceiling. She considered turning on the TV but felt too lazy to reach for the remote. Her mind still felt cloudy, and she still felt anxious and bothered, but she chose to let Steve sleep instead of calling him again. She decided her best bet was to try and sleep some more and hope that she felt better when the nurse woke her up in a few hours to breathe and cough again.

Her attempt at a nap was short-lived. Less than half an hour later, a middle-aged man in a dark suit came into Amy's room. Peeking around the corner, he saw Amy staring at the window. The curtains were still shut tight, but she stared at them anyway.

"Miss Johnson?" he said, interrupting her silence.

She slowly turned her head and looked at the man, saying nothing in return.

"I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time?" he asked.

She looked him up and down. "Cop or lawyer?" she inquired.

The man pulled his ID out of his pants pocket and showed her his badge. "Cop. Why'd you ask that?" He walked closer to her bed.

"You dress like a cop. What I don't know is who you are and why a cop wants to talk to me. Is this about Paul?" She had a slight hint of disdain in her voice. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was talk to this mystery man.

"I am Sergeant Holloway with Internal Affairs. I was hoping we could have a discussion about Inspector Steven Keller." He took a seat in the chair on the left side of the bed.

Amy glared at him. "Internal Affairs, huh? I've watched several police shows on TV, and every single time IAB is involved, they're out to get some poor cop who did nothing wrong. You guys are the enemy...so why in the living hell would I want to talk to you?"

Holloway smirked. "You can't believe everything you see on TV, you know. We're not always the enemy. We just need to keep our force free of the men and women who choose to break the rules and abuse their power."

"And you think Inspector Keller is one of these cops?" Amy questioned.

"I didn't say that. I'm just here to check some things out, that's all. No guilt or innocence is implied."

Amy didn't buy his act. She turned her head away from him. "Ask your questions and then get out," she demanded.

Holloway took a deep breath. He could not only tell that she was going to be difficult, but also that her difficulty would probably lead to Steve's guilt.

"Where did you meet Inspector Keller?" Holloway asked, getting a notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket.

"In a bar," she lied.

"A bar?" he asked with doubt in his voice.

"Yeah, a bar. Lots of people meet in bars. Why do you sound so shocked?"

"That's just not what I heard."

Amy turned back toward the sergeant. "If you already knew, then why did you ask me?"

"I want to hear it from you. I may have heard wrong."

Amy glared at him some more before answering. "Cypress Lawn Cemetery. Happy?"

"How did you meet?"

Amy sighed in annoyance. "I got myself into the middle of his stakeout."

"Could you give me a few more details?" he asked after waiting several seconds for her to elaborate.

She went over the facts with as much detail as she could muster, often going overboard with the descriptions of things; she was pissed at this guy for even asking, so she copped an attitude.

"You had no contact with Inspector Keller prior to Nick Milani taking you hostage?"

"Nope. I had no idea who he was until he told the guy he was under arrest."

"Did Inspector Keller get you shot?"

"What?! What the hell kind of question is that? No, he didn't get me shot, you jerk! I got myself shot! I kicked that guy in the crotch, which made him flinch and pull the trigger. Steve didn't tell me to do that; I did that all on my own."

"So you don't think Inspector Keller's actions got you into the situation at all?"

"Have you not been listening? No! I froze. I let the guy take me hostage. I got myself shot. Steve did everything he could to get me out of my own mess. That's it." Amy stared angrily at the ceiling.

Holloway took a moment to write some things down before asking his next question. "So Inspector Keller's first encounter with you was during that case. How did he get involved in the Paul Carpenter case?"

"Oh, this is a trip! Don't any of you guys down there talk to each other? How should I know how cases are assigned?"

"Did you make Inspector Keller aware of Paul Carpenter, after which he took it upon himself to make a case out of deaths that were originally ruled accidents?"

"I told Steve about all these people in my life dying. That's all. The rest of it - including who was behind it all - Steve figured out on his own. Because, you know, that's his job. And it's not like he went and did it all on his own; I'm sure several people down there were involved. Isn't that something you should know?" Amy rolled her eyes.

Holloway wrote some more notes down. "Let me switch gears here a little. How would you define your relationship with Inspector Keller?"

"Huh? What does that even mean?" Amy asked, knowing full well that this man was looking for her to say they were dating. She decided he'd have to pry it out of her.

"Are you friends? Are you something more? Exactly how involved in each other's lives are you, outside of the Paul Carpenter case?" Holloway's tone was showing how annoyed with Amy he was getting.

"For the last week, there has been no 'outside the Paul Carpenter case.' I lived with that all day and all night. He didn't stop stalking me just because it was after five. Any time I was with Steve, the case was involved. It was always there."

"Even in the middle of the night on…" He looked at his notes. "Monday, April 22nd?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated. She was turning into a convincing liar.

"According to this report I obtained, Mr. Carpenter called and threatened to come to your apartment that night, so you ran out and went straight to Inspector Keller's apartment. Is that right?"

"So? He lives close by."

"Why didn't you call the police or go to the station?"

"Because Steve is the police? Why would I have called and waited around for some other guys to come? I would have had to explain the whole thing to them when Steve already knew."

"That's the only reason you went - because you didn't want to have to explain the situation to anyone else?"

Amy picked up on the doubt in his voice. "Yep," was all she said.

"It has nothing to do with the fact that you and Inspector Keller are dating?"

"And what makes you think we're dating?" Amy asked, unwavered by his accusation.

"Witness statements."

"Witness statements? What the hell are you talking about? Who would have said something like that?" Amy had done a decent job of keeping her cool up to that point. Now her curiosity was chipping away at her act.

Holloway ignored her question. "Whose decision was it for you to hide out at Inspector Keller's apartment?"

"Mine. I went there, and I refused to go home."

"Did Inspector Keller try to make you leave?"

"No. He knew it would be dangerous for me to go back to my place."

"Did he or the department offer to put you up in a hotel?"

"I don't remember," she quickly huffed.

"Did you, or did you not, have a relationship with Inspector Keller outside of working together on this case?" Sergeant Holloway asked very straightforwardly.

Amy narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "No...and I'd like to see you prove otherwise. Are we done here?"

"No, not quite," Holloway muttered as he wrote. "The day he 'rescued' you from Mr. Carpenter…"

Amy interrupted him, angry about the inflection he used on the word rescued. "Are you insinuating he didn't rescue me from that lunatic?"

Holloway shrugged. "Is that all he did?"

"Yes. He rescued me from dying in that hellhole."

"By shooting Mr. Carpenter?"

"We both shot that bastard."

"You shot him with Inspector Keller's secondary weapon, is that right?"

"Yeah. Paul had Steve's main gun pointed at his head, so I took the other gun and shot Paul so he wouldn't shoot Steve. Steve told me to do it."

"And then Inspector Keller shot Paul...after he'd already been shot by you. Why is that?"

Amy thought back to the incident and realized that she must have been unconscious during that part. She had no idea how that shooting went down. "I don't know. Paul had a knife...maybe he pulled it on Steve."

"But you don't know that for sure?"

Amy sighed. "No. But what does it matter? Paul had already attacked Steve and me. He was holding me hostage for God's sake! The man told me if I didn't shoot Steve, he'd kill my daughter! Who cares if he was threatening Steve at that very moment? He'd done enough damage to warrant being killed. No one should even be questioning it."

"Did Inspector Keller ever voice any disdain toward Mr. Carpenter?"

"What a dumb question. Of course he did; the man was a serial killer. Every cop in town would voice disdain about someone like that."

"I mean in regards to you. Did he ever want to bring harm to Mr. Carpenter on your behalf?"

"Did he ever offer to kill him for me? Are you kidding me?! No! He never said anything like that! He's a good cop, not a vigilante."

"Did he ever mention wanting the man dead?"

Amy slammed her good arm on the bed. "Yes...yes he did. This man was terrorizing me and playing the police. We both wished he was dead because then we could sleep at night! Does that mean Steve sought him out and killed him in cold blood? Hell. NO." Her last words came out as shouts.

"I'm done talking to you," she then announced, turning her head away from him. "You know the way out."

Holloway sat and finished his note taking, and then stood up. "I appreciate your time, Miss Johnson," he said before walking out the door. He didn't wait around for a response; he didn't really want to know what she'd say anyway.

Once Amy was sure he was gone, she started thinking about what had just happened and where it might lead. How could anyone have found out some of the things Sergeant Holloway mentioned? The only people besides her and Steve who knew about her staying at Steve's and how she got there were Mike and...Paul? Did he know? But he was dead. She hadn't mentioned any details to anyone else...not even her mother.

She tried in vain to get her sore brain to wrap itself around this mystery, but all it did was refuse to cooperate. Fearing that this mess, and her in particular, would get Steve fired, she began bawling.


	56. Chapter 56

_**I meant to have this done sooner, but then they released the Ant-Man trailer, and I got distracted. lol**_

_**Also, this scene may be nothing like a real custody hearing, but, well, half the films in Hollywood aren't too accurate either. Enjoy it anyway! :D Oh, and Nans...Mommie Dearest is a perfect nickname for Margaret. :)**_

A small group gathered in the courtroom of Judge Oren Harding. He was to decide the fate of Jasmine's future, and most of the crowd was hoping for that future to remain in San Francisco.

Mike sat in the gallery with O'Brien and Inspector Carlisle from fraud, who were there to inform the judge of Janice Duncan's future. Millie sat with Lois at the defendant's table, while a well-to-do older lady sat at the plaintiff's table with a grey-haired man in an Italian suit. Jasmine was in Judge Harding's chambers with another social worker.

While they waited for the proceedings to begin, Mike busied himself by doing a little profiling. He looked at the woman he assumed to be Beatrice. As she and her assumed lawyer walked in the courtroom, she seemed to make sure she didn't make accidental eye contact with any of the others in the room. She stared straight ahead and only turned her head to sit down and speak with her lawyer. Her hair and clothes made her look like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, and she was wearing a small jewelry store's worth of gold. Her nails were manicured immaculately and she seemed to be overly protective of them. She kept sweeping her hair away from her face as if she were showing the room how important she is, not to actually move hair out of her line of vision. As much as he didn't want to admit it, this woman reminded him of Janice. That was about the last thing he wanted to see.

A few minutes later, Judge Harding exited his chambers and took the bench. The white-haired man began the proceedings by stating that everyone was gathered there to determine custody of Jasmine, and that two parties were interested in being her guardian.

He then asked about why the child was an orphan. Mike stood up and told Judge Harding about how her father had been murdered, providing the man with copies of the investigation and death certificate. Next, Inspector Carlisle informed the judge of the case against Janice Duncan and why she was currently incarcerated. Upon inquiring if she would get out soon and wish to reclaim custody of her daughter, O'Brien stood and informed Harding of the case his office was currently building against the woman. Lois then informed Judge Harding that in reality, her status made no difference as she was not the girl's legal guardian anyway. A late night look into court records showed that no petition was ever filed for Janice to legally adopt Jasmine, and she was not listed as the mother on the girl's birth certificate - no one but Carl Duncan was listed and there were no records stating the identity of the birth mother. Lois also had a affidavit from Janice stating she had no desire to adopt Jasmine or reclaim any custody.

Carlisle and O'Brien gave each other a look, both wondering why they'd just wasted their time laying out their case. Mike gave them a quick apologetic glance as they left the courtroom.

"So I guess this child really is an orphan then. Let's begin hearing from those who would like to be this child's legal guardian. My first party is Amy Johnson. However, I am under the impression that she is not in attendance. Why is that?"

Mike looked to Beatrice for a reaction to this news. He saw what he knew he would; her lips curled into a smirk and she began whispering with her attorney. His blood began to boil, but he stoically stood up - it was again his turn to speak. He informed Judge Harding of Amy's ordeal and what Paul Carpenter did to her. Mike then provided him with pictures and medical records, which Harding took a moment to peruse.

Satisfied with her absence, he then asked Millie to tell him why she was there. She informed him of what he already knew for the sake of court records. He then asked her, on Amy's behalf, to explain her relationship with Jasmine.

Millie, pulling out every trick she knew from her years on the bench, told the tale of a lonely, abused little girl who developed a relationship with her nanny, Amy. Millie made sure to add that it was the only positive relationship in Jasmine's life and that Amy was practically her mother already. She also added, as innocently as she could, that Jasmine had never met Beatrice, nor had heard of her previously. Mike saw Beatrice roll her eyes. He laughed to himself.

"Compelling argument, Judge Cox. Ms. McFadden, do you have anything to add?"

Lois gave him all the foster home paperwork she had on Amy, including a home evaluation that she had passed with flying colors. Lois also added a character reference, telling him that she was an excellent social worker in the short time they worked together, and she never had any qualms about placing Jasmine with Amy.

"Thank you, ladies," Judge Harding said before turning to Beatrice and asking her what her exact relationship was with Jasmine.

"Your honor, Mrs. Lynch is…" her attorney began before Judge Harding cut him off.

"You know, in my profession, I listen to lawyers all day long. I get tired of listening to lawyers and their legalese. No one is on trial here, so if you don't mind, Mr. Lucero, I'd like to hear this from your client. She does desire custody of the child, does she not?"

Mike laughed to himself again. _This might not be so bad after all_, he thought.

The attorney was forced to nod and take a seat. Beatrice spoke without standing up.

"I am her father's aunt, Your Honor." She spoke in a soft, sweet tone.

Mike wanted to gag.

"You are Carl Duncan's aunt?" Judge Harding asked for clarification.

Beatrice Lynch nodded.

"In looking over all the information I have on this case, one thing that stood out to me was the fact that no other blood relatives of Jasmine's had any desire to take this child into their homes. Why are you willing?"

"I am assuming that those relatives are all from Janice's side of the family. I don't know any of them personally, but if they're anything like her, it's not a surprise. Janice was a hateful, self-centered woman. I always wondered what a wonderful man like my nephew saw in a woman like her. I am eternally grateful that my dear great niece is away from her."

Judge Harding sighed. "I believe I asked you why _you_ are willing to take in the child. You didn't tell me that."

"Despite what others might have heard from unreliable sources," Beatrice began, glancing at Millie. Millie responded by giving her an indomitable glance of her own.

"My nephew was a dear man. His mother, my husband's classless sister, couldn't keep a husband, so Carl came to stay with my husband and me several times during his childhood. He was practically my son, and I raised him to be a successful man. He was a tenured professor and ran several programs for homeless and other wayward youth. He gave his daughter a life that most children can only dream of! She had anything she ever wanted, went to the best private school in the city, and she didn't have to deal with the riff raff around her. If she comes to live with me, she will be able to sustain the lifestyle to which she is accustomed. That won't happen if she's not allowed to stay with her family. Carl would want her to be raised by me."

Mike was being very good about biting his tongue. He wanted more than anything to give Beatrice Lynch of piece of his mind.

Judge Harding narrowed his eyes. He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by riff raff, but he was exceedingly tired of her obvious elitist attitude. "Well, let's not be presumptuous. I will further examine his will later. Mrs. Lynch, you do realize that by taking custody of Jasmine, you will be uprooting her from the only life she's ever known, regardless of how accustomed to your lifestyle she is?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"How do you plan on helping her cope with that?"

"Well…" Beatrice paused a moment. It was obvious to a seasoned interrogator like Mike that she hadn't thought about that one bit.

"I plan on making life in my house mirror the life she had in Carl's home."

Millie quickly turned around and shot Mike a concerned look.

"I can recreate her bedroom in my house with all the same furniture and toys. It will be like she never left San Francisco."

"Mmm," was all the response Judge Harding gave. He made some notes and then told everyone that he was recessing for fifteen minutes to have a word with Jasmine alone. He banged his gavel, stood up, and retreated to his chambers.

No one said a word to anyone else. All five people remaining in the courtroom kept their thoughts to themselves. Tense was too weak a word for the atmosphere Judge Harding left behind.

* * *

Judge Harding walked into his chambers and saw a social worker sitting on his couch watching Jasmine, who was busy writing something in a notebook while lying on the floor.

"What are you writing?" he asked the little girl.

"My thoughts," was all she said.

"Ah. Do you like doing that?" he asked.

Jasmine nodded. "I tried listening to what was going on in there," she explained, pointing to the courtroom, "but she wouldn't let me," she finished, now pointing at the social worker. "Mommy never liked it when I did that either. That's Mommy Amy, not the other woman," she explained.

"I see. Why don't you come sit by me?" he said, pointing to a chair next to his desk.

Jasmine shrugged and got up. She sat on a chair next to Judge Harding, but instead of looking at him, she was more interested in seeing what was on his desk.

"Jasmine, do you know why you're here?" he asked.

"You're the man who's going to give me a family," she said very matter-of-factly.

"That's right. You need a new mother and father."

She shook her head. "No I don't. I have the perfect mommy and daddy."

"Oh you do?" Judge Harding asked, not exactly sure to whom she was referring. "Who are they?"

"Amy and Steve. Oh, and Mike and Jeannie. Amy is my mommy, Steve is my daddy, Mike is my grandpa, and Jeannie is my aunt."

"That's your family?"

Jasmine looked at him and nodded.

"I know who Amy is, and Mike...but who are Steve and Jeannie?" Harding asked.

She sighed. "Steve is Amy's boyfriend. He's also Grandpa's partner. They're policemen. Jeannie is Grandpa's daughter. She lives in Arizona. She goes to school there."

Harding made some notes on a piece of paper. "And you want to live with them?" he asked.

"I will only live with them. Kids are supposed to live with their mommy and daddy, right?"

Harding nodded.

"They're my mommy and daddy, so I should live with them."

"What about your first family? Are Amy and Steve better than your first mom and dad?"

"Oh yeah!"

He was surprised by her insistence. "How are they better?"

"Because they love each other. Mommies and daddies who love each other are supposed to kiss, right? Amy and Steve kiss each other a lot because they're in love. They kiss me too because they love me. My first mom and dad never kissed each other or me. No kissing at all."

"You don't think they loved you?" Harding inquired.

Jasmine promptly shook her head. "Mom hit me. Dad always chased me out of his office for being in the way. They always yelled at each other...and at me. Amy never yelled at me." She looked down at her lap.

Harding made some more notes. He then asked, "Do you like your Aunt Beatrice?"

"Is that the lady they keep telling me wants to take me away from Mommy and Daddy? I don't know who she is, and I won't go anywhere with her."

"You've never met her? She never came to your house for Christmas or Thanksgiving or a birthday? Maybe you went to Arizona to see her?"

"Nope. My first mom and dad never took me anywhere. Any time I went on vacation, I went with Amy. I'm hoping after Mommy gets out of the hospital, she and Daddy will take me to the beach. Me and Mommy were supposed to go after Christmas, but we didn't."

"Did you do anything with your parents, or just Amy?"

"Just Amy. I wish I could have gone and lived with her but _she_ wouldn't let me." Jasmine made a face and stuck out her tongue.

"Your mom Janice wouldn't let you go live with Amy? Is that what you mean?"

Jasmine nodded.

Harding made some more notes. While he was busy writing, Jasmine hopped off the chair and walked over to the social worker. The lady gave her a piece of paper, and Jasmine walked back to Judge Harding's desk with it.

"See this?" she said, putting the paper on his desk. It was the drawing she'd tried to give Amy the night before.

"This is my family. My first family isn't here at all. They're not my family anymore. These are the people I love."

He looked at the picture a moment and then picked up his phone. He told his secretary to find him some crayons. After arguing with her about the odd request, she decided she knew where she might find some and took off to look. He hung up the phone and turned his attention back to Jasmine.

"If I gave you some paper and crayons, do you think you could draw me some pictures?"

Jasmine nodded. "I like to draw. I drew Daddy a bunch of pictures for his hospital room. He liked them."

"Daddy's in the hospital too, huh?"

"Mmm hmm. The man who hurt Mommy hurt him too. Daddy said I was lucky he didn't hurt me!"

"How would he have hurt you?"

"At the hotel. He told me if Mommy didn't do what he wanted her to, he'd hurt me. But he didn't."

Before Harding could inquire further, his secretary walked in with a box of crayons.

"That was quick. Where'd you find them?" he asked the woman, taking the box of colors from her.

"My desk. My grandkids came by one day and left them. I never remembered to give them back," his secretary explained.

"Well, today I am glad you're forgetful. Thank you."

The lady left the room and Harding grabbed some paper from one of his desk drawers. He pulled Jasmine's chair as close to the desk as he could and put the paper and crayons in front of her.

"Okay, I'll tell you what I want you to draw, and you draw whatever comes to your mind."

Jasmine nodded.

"I want you to draw how it would make you feel if your first mom, Janice, came back and you lived with her."

Jasmine narrowed her eyes and didn't move.

"Just pick up a crayon and draw anything," Harding said, trying to prompt her.

She picked up the box and looked at its contents. Deciding on the black crayon, she pulled it out and angrily scribbled all over the paper. She then shoved it toward Harding and slammed the crayon on his desk.

He glanced at the paper and then pushed it off to the side.

"Now I want you to draw how you'd feel if you had to go live with your dad's aunt in Arizona. She says living there will be just like living in your old house here."

This time she grabbed the red crayon and did the same angry scribbling, only she pressed so hard she tore the paper.

Judge Harding took that paper and placed it on top of the first one. "Draw me how you would feel if you got to stay here in San Francisco and live with Amy."

He could see her whole demeanor change. She relaxed and pulled several crayons out of the box. Several minutes later, she handed Harding a picture of a bunch of things that make many little girls happy - rainbows, sunshine, flowers, and smiley faces.

He thanked Jasmine for the drawings and told her he would be right back. She busied herself by cleaning up her art supplies.

Judge Harding walked back into the courtroom and found everyone quiet as a mouse. He approached the bench, informed everyone that he was recessing again, this time for two hours, during which time he would listen to the recording Millie made, look over the mountain of paperwork, and make his decision. He again banged his gavel and retired to his chambers.

Soon after, Jasmine came out and ran up to Mike.

"The judge said it was time for lunch," she told him.

"He's right; it is." Mike turned to Millie and Lois. "What do you ladies say? We could grab something at that new restaurant down the road. I heard it's good! And...it's my treat!"

"Well, I don't see how either one of us could resist an invitation like that!" Millie said, turning to Lois and then picking up her papers and briefcase.

"What does that mean, Grandpa? You're going to give them candy?"

Mike picked up his adopted granddaughter and laughed. "No. It means that I'm going to pay for their lunch."

"Ohhh. Adults talk funny."

Mike patted her on the back and carried her toward the courtroom doors. As the group was about to leave the courtroom, they were blocked.

"Hello, Jasmine," Beatrice said, stepping in front of Mike and greeting the child.

Jasmine turned her head and looked at the woman. "Who are you?" she asked, the fact that she was annoyed evident in her tone.

"I'm your Aunt Beatrice," she said sweetly.

Jasmine gave her a dirty look. "You want to take me away!"

Beatrice smiled. "I would love to have you come live with us in Arizona with the rest of your family."

Jasmine kept glaring at the woman. "My family lives in San Francisco," she said very seriously. "I live in San Francisco...and you are not my family. Amy and Steve and Mike are my family."

Beatrice kept the smile on her face, though Mike could tell it was no longer sincere.

"Well," Beatrice started, "that's because we don't know each other very well yet. I thought since we have this two hours, we could go get some lunch and get to know each other."

Mike looked at his adopted granddaughter and saw her face getting red and tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

He smirked at Beatrice. "That's awfully telling, isn't it? You have to take the girl out to lunch to 'get to know her' because you don't know anything about her, yet you want to drag her off to live with you. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"She's my blood, and blood should stick together," she said very curtly. "We're family and nothing should tear that apart."

Mike turned to Jasmine. "Honey, what is a family to you?"

She looked at him. "People who love each other and take care of each other." She then turned to Beatrice. "Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa Mike love me and take care of me. They're my family."

Mike turned his attention to Beatrice, giving her a look that was less than friendly. "You heard her. Blood isn't the end all when it comes to family. Now if you'll excuse us, we have a lunch date."

He pushed his way past the visibly angered woman. Before fully leaving the courtroom, he turned back to her.

"You know, getting to know her wouldn't be necessary if you'd have been as close to your nephew as you claim. I guess blood isn't as important as success."

* * *

Everyone sat in silence as if they were waiting for a funeral to commence. They watched as Judge Harding came out of his chambers carrying nothing but three pieces of paper. He took the bench and began.

"I just want to first say that this was probably one of the toughest decisions I have had to make in my career on the bench. It wasn't because there was no clear choice to make; it was quite the contrary. It was because I was forced to choose the path I did not want to go down."

Mike's spirits rose and fell in a matter of seconds. He suddenly had a sick feeling wash over him.

"Custody of Jasmine Duncan is being temporarily awarded to her great aunt Beatrice Lynch."

Beatrice and her lawyer congratulated themselves as if they'd just won money. On the other side of the courtroom, it was more as if all the sound had been sucked out of the room and replaced with a black hole. Mike, Millie, and Lois were too stunned and saddened to even breathe.

Judge Harding continued on. "I wouldn't be so quick to pop the cork on that champagne, Mrs. Lynch." He looked at her with an intimidation that only a man in his position could pull off.

"I want everyone to look at something." He picked up the first drawing and handed it to the bailiff, who in turn walked it over to Millie and Lois.

"This first drawing is a response to my asking Jasmine to draw me how she'd feel if she were made to live with Janice Duncan."

Millie, Lois, and Mike hung their heads. It may have just been black squiggles to some, but to the three of them, it was the freeing of pain from a lifetime of mistreatment. When the bailiff handed the paper to Beatrice and her lawyer, neither one registered a reaction.

Returning the first paper to Judge Harding, the bailiff then took the second picture and made the rounds.

"This drawing is a response to my asking Jasmine to draw me how she'd feel if she had to go live in Arizona with you, Mrs. Lynch. Note the condition of the paper," Harding told the audience.

Mike, upon seeing the blood red lines and the torn paper, briefly wondered if he could get away with taking Jasmine somewhere and hiding her from her family. He also had a million things to say to Oren Harding, none of which were appropriate for a man in his position.

Beatrice and her lawyer looked at the paper. Her reaction was to shake her head as if she had no idea what to make of the drawing; it said nothing to her.

The third drawing was then passed around. Harding explained the circumstances behind that one. Lois started crying, realizing Jasmine's life was about to become a mess of blood-red lines instead of bright sunshine over a collage of smiles.

"I hope most of you can see the point I am making," Harding said. "Although I am not completely sure of that."

He set his focus on Beatrice. "The only reason you are being awarded custody, Mrs. Lynch, is because Miss Johnson's recovery hinders her ability to be there one hundred percent for Jasmine. In the eyes of the law, it would be irresponsible of me to decide otherwise. However, under this robe I am a human, and I was neither swayed nor moved by your testimony. You showed little remorse for the fact that this child will have to be uprooted from everything she's known to live with people who are strangers to her. I honestly do not know exactly what your true motivation is for wanting to take custody of your great niece, but it's not the same as Miss Johnson's. I would take a good, hard look at my priorities if I were you. In light of the child's obvious emotional state, I am also ordering you to get her a good therapist. Actually, I think you could both stand to see one."

Beatrice was taken aback. She placed her right hand on her chest as if she were shocked that someone would speak about her in such a way.

Mr. Lucero stood up. "Sir, I do not think therapy is necessary for the child. She is not currently seeing a professional…"

Harding cut him off. "What part of 'ordering' did you not understand, Mr. Lucero? It wasn't a suggestion."

Lucero sheepishly sat back down.

Harding then turned to everyone. "This placement is good for four months to see how Jasmine adjusts to her new life, and to allow Amy Johnson time to fully recover, which her physician says could take 2-3 months. At that time, we will reconvene and rehear testimony."

Mr. Lucero stood up again. "Your Honor, is it possible that custody could be taken today? Mrs. Lynch needs to be back in Phoenix for prior engagements that require her presence."

Harding glared at him and his client. "Do not make me regret this decision any more than I already do."

Millie stood up. "I would suggest that the child be allowed the weekend to say goodbye to her family here." It took everything in her not to turn and scowl at the two Arizonans.

"I agree with Judge Cox; that would be in the best interest of the child. Custody will be handed over at 9am Monday morning." He banged his gavel and angrily retreated to his chambers.

Lois began crying more. Millie sunk into her seat and took her hand.

"Damn it," Mike muttered before standing up and walking toward Judge Harding's chambers. A few seconds later, Jasmine came out. When she saw Mike, she skipped over to him.

"Is it all over, Grandpa?"

Mike picked her up. "Yes, it's all over."

"So I get to go live with Mommy and Daddy now?" she asked, enthusiasm in her voice.

As she looked at him with her big blue eyes, Mike wanted to break down and cry, but he had to be strong for her. He was going to have to be the one who was strong for everybody.

Mike headed for the lobby. Millie and Lois stood up and followed him. Once outside, Jasmine looked at Mike.

"You look sad, Grandpa. Why?" she asked innocently.

He took a deep breath. "Well, Pumpkin…" he began.

She smiled. "Pumpkin. I like that. Daddy calls me Princess and you call me Pumpkin." She giggled. "Princess Pumpkin! I have to tell Daddy this. Are we going to go see him now?"

Mike walked her over to a bench and sat them both down. "Actually, I need to tell you something first. And when I tell you, I want you to be a big girl, okay?"

She gave him a suspicious look. Then she noticed the frown on Millie's face and that Lois was trying to stop crying.

"What happened?" she asked Mike, her voice trembling.

"Pumpkin…" he took her hands in his. "The judge is making you go live with your aunt in Arizona."

Her eyes got wide and all the color drained from her face. "What?"

"On Monday, your Aunt Beatrice will be taking you to live with her in Arizona."

Her bottom lip quivered. "I can't stay here with Amy and Steve?"

Mike simply shook his head and waited for Jasmine's next move. He figured she'd break down and wail, like many six year olds would be prone to do, but she just stared at him, letting tears collect and fall out of her eyes.

Then she did something no one expected. Jasmine threw her hands down and yelled, "No! They can't take me! No!" Then she leapt up and took off running before anyone realized what was going on.

She ran toward the doors to the courthouse. After Mike realized what she was doing, he jumped up and ran after her. Unfortunately for him, her size allowed her to sneak through the lobby crowd better than him, making it easy for her to put some distance between them.

She snuck around someone coming in the building and ran down the steps of the Civic Center Courthouse. At the bottom she sprinted to the curb and stopped, looking out at a highly-congested Van Ness Avenue. That's where Mike found her once he was able to get out of the building and down the steps. He dashed to the curb and scooped up the bawling child in his arms.

"Mommy told me never to cross busy streets by myself!" she wailed into Mike's shoulder. She then quickly picked up her head. "You can walk me across the street though! Then I can run away so she won't find me!"

Mike frowned at her. "You know I can't do that. I can't let you run away! Your mommy and daddy would be very upset if they lost you!" He winced, realizing those were poor words to use, but he doubted Jasmine caught the double meaning anyway.

Still crying, she turned her attention back toward the courthouse. Mike wondered what she was looking at, so he followed her gaze and saw that a crowd had gathered, including Beatrice and her lawyer.

"Well!" Beatrice huffed. "If this is how she behaves around all of you, then I say the judge made an excellent decision getting her out of this city!"

Before anyone could counter her statement, Jasmine started screaming, "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"

Mike quickly walked Jasmine away from the scene as she continued a hate-filled rant worthy of a child twice her age, leaving the two women to hold off Beatrice.

Once she and Mike were a ways down the street, her screams transitioned back to tears. "Why?" Mike could hear her quietly muttering into his shoulder.

_Why indeed_, he thought.


	57. Chapter 57

_**To my guest reviewer...these people could use a superhero about now! :D**_

It had been a rough day. After the meeting with Sergeant Holloway, Amy had been put through an obstacle course of tests. The news wasn't all positive either. Dr. Conrad and an orthopedist were happy with the healing her knee was doing, but it was still far from being whole. The orthopedist gave her an estimate of 6-8 weeks, and lots of physical therapy, before she'd be able to fully walk again.

That news depressed her, but not as much as the outlook on her ribs and lung. Her ribs had made little progress, and her lung was healing at a slower rate than Dr. Conrad had hoped. Instead of the typical 6-8 week healing time, he estimated that now it would be more like 8-10 weeks. He jokingly asked her why she'd been doing sit ups in bed, but in the back of his mind he wondered if she had been trying to do too much moving despite his telling her not to.

Since her broken wrist was the second injury to that area, it was also healing slower than normal. Her facial fractures were starting to repair themselves, but Dr. Conrad reasoned that the initial swelling had delayed the start. Her concussion hadn't begun displaying any outward symptoms, like thinking difficulties or mood changes, but he told her they could still show up in the days to come.

The only real positive news she'd gotten that day was that her chest tube could come out. She'd be stuck in the hospital longer than anyone estimated, and even when she got out, she'd be practically homebound. Dr. Conrad suggested she consider moving into a rehabilitation facility as she would need someone around to take care of her and help with day to day tasks. The thought of being stuck in what was basically a nursing home took Amy to the darkest place she'd been lately.

As promised, after her battery of tests - and his - Jenny brought Steve down to Amy's room. He expected to see someone with a little more life in their eyes, like the girl he'd left earlier that morning, but he found quite the opposite.

"Hey, Beautiful," he greeted her, taking a seat on the side of the bed.

She stared at the wall, oblivious to his presence.

Steve waved his hand in front of her face. "Hello...Earth to Amy."

She looked up at him. "What are you doing here?" she quietly uttered.

He was confused by her attitude. "I thought you'd be a little more excited to see me."

"You won't be excited to see me soon enough, so I'm preparing."

Knowing this would be a lengthy conversation, Steve plopped down on his right side and lay beside her, his head resting on her pillow. He looked her in her eyes, which seemed to be looking right through him. "What happened? And don't you dare say nothing. Something is bothering you and I want to know exactly what it is."

"You're gonna get in trouble for being in the bed again," she told him.

"So? The only thing I care about is making you feel better. To hell with the people here and their one person per bed rule. Now, what's got you so upset?"

She blinked and her eyes seemed to finally focus on him. "The only good news I got was that I could get the chest tube out. I won't be able to walk for two months. My lung and ribs won't be fully healed for three. I might still end up with reasoning and emotional problems from the concussion. Oh, and the gynecologist I saw is concerned about future scarring after I was so...how did she put it...forcefully violated or something like that?"

She started crying. "Face it, Steve, I am nothing more than a fucking invalid! Dr. Conrad wants me to move into a rehab facility because I can't take care of myself! Can you imagine the fun you'll have dating a girl who's in a nursing home? 'Hot date tonight, Keller? No, I'm going to go visit my girlfriend in the old folks' home. Ohhhh...you're one of _those_ guys.' Although I might as well be an 80 year old lady for all I'm worth to you now. Paul ruined me for good! He officially won!"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes I'd like to smack these thoughts out of you. He is dead! You are alive! Alive always beats dead...always. He didn't win shit, you hear me? I don't care what hell you think he left behind...he's still dead, and you will get better! And no matter how hard you try, you will never ever chase me away!"

Steve was surprised at the absence of a rebuttal, so he continued. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes," he repeated.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to talk to you. You're not the one who refuses to listen to me. I want to talk to that little voice inside your head that keeps telling you all these lies and negative thoughts, and I can't do that unless you close your eyes."

Amy looked at him skeptically, but closed her eyes anyway.

"Did Dr. Conrad say you were dying?" Steve asked.

"Well...no," she answered quietly.

"He didn't mention the word dying at all?"

"No."

"So you'll live. Much better than the alternative. Did he or these other doctors ever say that you'll never do something again? Like, you'll never walk again, or you'll have trouble breathing for the rest of your life, or that you'll never have a baby...or...you know...?"

"Would you leave me if that were the case?" she asked apprehensively.

"The little voice hasn't answered my question!" he snapped, not answering her question. He knew he sounded a little more perturbed than he actually was, but if anger and annoyance is what it took to get Amy to start thinking more realistically, then so be it.

"No!" she grunted.

"And I bet you asked."

She sighed. "Yes, I asked."

"Alright, so some day down the road, you will walk just like you always have, you will have enough lung capacity to yell me…"

"I'd like to yell at you now."

"...and we'll still be able to ride roller coasters."

She groaned. "I wish I'd never said that," she muttered, starting to laugh.

Steve laughed with her. "Makes for a decent euphemism though. So, basically they said you'd make a full recovery?"

She paused before simply nodding.

"Full recovery. Good as new. And Paul is dead...as in no recovery. Lifeless. He'll never bother you again. And anything we're still living with will eventually go away."

"Scars don't heal. Memories like that don't fade," Amy countered.

"So turn those negatives into positives! Just like I was telling you Wednesday morning...scars don't have to be reminders of only bad things! These scars are a reminder that once, you overcame one of the worst obstacles a person can face...and you are so much stronger for it. We're stronger for it."

She opened her eyes. "We?"

"Yeah, we. We're in this together, you and me. If it affects you, it affects me. Plus...and I know this probably sounds stupid to most people considering we've been together only a week...but I think it made us stronger as a couple. I loved you before, but I love you more now."

"Why?" Amy asked, disbelieving.

"Because now I know more about what kind of person you are deep down. I mean, without us being forced into this mess, I may not have found out so quickly that you're a great mother, or that you're very protective of the people you love, or that you're cute as hell when you smile...or that you can be stubborn and jealous and untrusting and pessimistic…"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Amy put her broken hand over his face to make him stop talking. He retaliated by kissing it.

"You know, you could have thought I was cute just by looking at me; you didn't have to actually meet me."

"Oh yes I did! You wouldn't have smiled at all if it weren't for me," Steve said confidently.

Amy gave him an annoyed look. "Yeah, you're probably right. Damn you."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then they both laughed.

"Hypothetically," Amy started, "if you'd have seen me in the grocery store, or walking around town or something, would you have even noticed me? I mean, what is it that you first noticed about me anyway?"

"I would have noticed you no matter where we were." He paused. "I thought you were cute, and I notice cute girls," he said honestly before quickly throwing in, "I used to anyway."

Amy snorted and made a face like she only half believed him.

"It's true! It's a past hobby."

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled, though inside she couldn't help but smile.

Ignoring her skepticism, he continued. "Anyway, I know that sounds shallow, but anyone who says the first thing they notice about someone isn't their looks is lying. But secondly I noticed that you were so sad...and not just an 'I'm at a funeral' sad. I just had this overwhelming desire to make you the happiest person on earth. I don't really know why, but I'm glad I took the chance."

Amy smiled. "And I'd be lying if I didn't say you had some degree of success. I'm mostly still a mess though."

"You're a work in progress; we all are. You may have faults, but no one is perfect. You're perfect for me though, and that's all that counts."

She started running her fingers through his hair. "I wish my little voice believed you more."

"It will. I've been told that I can be very convincing." He raised his eyebrows a couple times, making her laugh again.

"Stop making me feel better; you're making me feel worse," she told him as she held on to her side.

"Sorry, bad habit. Say, since it's only fair...what's the first thing you noticed about me?"

She thought for a second. "Your voice."

"Huh?" he uttered, not sure what she was getting at.

"I don't mean literally really...I mean the calmness of your voice. It was soothing. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I kept hearing your voice in my head; it was keeping me sane," she said very seriously.

Steve smiled. "Never stop hearing me then."

He gave her his hand. "Why don't you try to rest a little. You look tired."

"I am. I swear I can't stay awake for longer than an hour anymore."

"The more you sleep, the faster you'll heal."

"Stay here?" she asked.

"They'll have to kick me out."

Amy closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on Steve's breathing. Maybe matching his breathing would help her lung work better.

While part of her brain was listening to Steve, another part was back at that cemetery, replaying the scene. That led to her replaying her whole relationship with Steve...which led to Sergeant Holloway. Not realizing that she'd fallen partially asleep, she jerked.

Steve, who had also relaxed more than expected, was startled. "Are you okay?"

"I had a visitor this morning," she said in a slightly panicked voice. She turned her head toward him.

He noticed tears building up in her eyes. "Was it your mother? If she's been here…"

"No. It was some guy from Internal Affairs asking questions about you."

Steve gave her a curious look. "I.A.? What do they want with me?"

Some of the tears escaped. "He kept asking about Paul's shooting...and about us. He kept asking what our relationship with each other was and if you shot Paul out of revenge. Why would he be asking these things?"

"I don't know...because all the guys in I.A. are bastards? Who was it?"

"Sergeant Holloway."

Steve rolled his eyes. "That guy is definitely a bastard. He's always out to get someone from what I've heard."

"But why you? They should know it was a good shooting, shouldn't they? And how did anyone find out we were seeing each other? He knew I was hiding out at your apartment! How the hell could anyone have found that out?"

Steve looked at her suspiciously. "He knew that?" He looked down at the bed. "Well, I suppose that would have come out in the report about Paul kidnapping you from there. He would have access to that."

"He specifically asked me why I went to your house after Paul called me instead of calling the police. Was that in any report?"

Steve just stared at her. He finally uttered, "No...I don't know why it would have been. What exactly did he say?"

"He said he had a report that said Paul called me Monday night, after which I went running to your house. He asked me why I did that instead of calling the police. He kept probing if it was because we were dating. I asked him what made him think we were. He says witness statements. Witnesses? What witnesses?"

She began breathing more rapidly, which was doing the pain in her lung no good.

"Hey, don't start panicking! You're going to hurt yourself!" He placed his left hand on the side of her face.

She attempted to breathe normally, but it wasn't working, so Steve hopped off the bed and pushed the call button. Moments later, a nurse came in and saw Amy hyperventilating, so she quickly hooked her up to an oxygen mask. Dr. Conrad came in as well.

"What happened?" he asked Steve.

"She got upset over something and just…"

"Panic attack, huh?" He looked down at his patient. "Do you want something to calm you down? Or is the pain getting to be too much?"

She furiously shook her head and protested under the mask.

"Okay...but if you change your mind, let me know. I know your day has been rough, and there's no need to suffer unnecessarily."

"Should I leave…" Steve started to ask.

Dr. Conrad shook his head. "Not on my account. I have a feeling she'll be better if you stick around. I'll be back in about ten minutes to see how she's feeling."

"Thanks," Steve said diffidently. He turned to Amy. "Do you want me to stay?"

She patted the other side of her bed, so Steve sat down, taking her hand in his.

"I'm just afraid that you'll get fired because of me," she said, her voice obscured by the oxygen mask. "I know how much you love your job...and you're so good at it…"

Steve interrupted her. "Don't you ever think that I love my job more than you. Ever! Sure, it's a great job, but there are thousands of jobs out there - there's only one you, and I'm not about to lose that."

"You're not worried?" Amy found his attitude odd.

"Not right now, no. They've got nothing to pin on me; that was a good shooting."

"But what about us? Is that gonna get you in trouble? I tried to tell the jerk we weren't dating, but...what if he has spies following you or something?" She was getting worked up again.

Steve squeezed her hand. "That's paranoia talking. Even he's not _that_ desperate. Look, let Mike and me worry about this, okay? But if anything bad does happens, promise me...you won't blame yourself?"

She just stared at him. "I just don't want you to look at me one day and see nothing but regret," she said sadly.

"That will never, ever happen. I'm the one who pursued you; this is all on me. If anything happens, I only have myself to blame. I would never blame you for anything. I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered. She then took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She couldn't handle the situation anymore.

* * *

Jenny walked into Steve's room a few hours later and found him pacing the floor. "Trying to wear a hole in the linoleum?" she asked him.

He looked up at her. "I couldn't lay in that bed anymore; I'm too restless."

"That's good! It means you're feeling better."

"Yeah, I feel fine," Steve muttered, still pacing.

"But...there's something else on your mind I take it."

Steve sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "The custody hearing is going on right now...and I guess I'm a little nervous. Plus Amy was upset earlier about something, and I can't seem to get my mind off that either."

"Well, if you want to go see her, I can spring you again. That's kind of why I'm here anyway."

Steve noticed she too looked like she had something on her mind. "And what else is on your mind?"

"I was just talking to Dr. Conrad, and he asked me if I would ask a favor of you."

"Of me?" Steve asked, confused.

"It seems like Amy isn't eating, and he thought maybe you could extol the benefits of food to her better than we seem to be doing."

"Why isn't she eating?" Steve asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Well, I can't say this from experience, but I imagine it hurts. You move your face a lot more than you realize when you chew. But...she says her stomach hurts, which it probably does. We've pumped enough drugs into her after all. If she had solid food in her stomach, the drugs wouldn't make it feel so bad. And…" Jenny paused, not sure it was her place to say what she almost did.

"And...what?" Steve inquired. He wasn't letting her keep anything about Amy from him.

"She seems awfully depressed today. Dr. Conrad noticed it too. Sometimes depressed people just don't feel like eating."

Steve knew exactly why she was so depressed, but he decided to keep this new development to himself. "I think she's just tired of being bed-ridden."

Jenny nodded. "I'm surprised that doesn't get more people. You think you could make her happy enough to eat something? I'll even let you lay in the bed," she teased.

That got a smirk out of Steve. At this point, he would have loved nothing more than to just take her home and hide away for a while - just the two of them.

As he was about to answer, Mike came in the room carrying Jasmine, who was asleep.

"Afternoon, Lieutenant," Jenny greeted him. "Looks like someone's tuckered out."

"Yeah," he said, "it was a rough day."

"Join the crowd," she answered, pointing toward Steve. She then told them she'd be back in a few minutes and left the room.

Steve looked at his guests. He suggested Mike lay Jasmine on the bed, which he did.

"Is she okay?" he asked, looking at her. Then he looked at his partner, who looked like he'd been put through a wringer. "Are _you_ okay?"

Mike didn't say anything - he didn't have to.

"No…." was all Steve said. He sat down heavily on the bed. "No...they didn't…"

Mike walked around the side of the bed and sat next to Steve. "'Fraid so, Buddy Boy. 'Fraid so…" His last utterance was barely audible.

Steve just stared at the wall, making no sound or movement. This greatly worried Mike, who put his arm around Steve, gripping his shoulder.

"Four months. It's just for four months," Mike mentioned, trying anything to soften the blow.

After sitting in silence for what seemed like hours, Steve finally asked, "How could they? How could they do that?"

"Believe me when I say that the judge didn't want to. He was as upset by the whole thing as we are." He paused. "But Amy's condition hindered her being able to fully care for Jasmine right now. His hands were tied."

Mike knew Steve wouldn't accept that as an excuse - and he didn't.

"But it's okay to send her off with people she doesn't know? There's nothing wrong with ruining her life?" Steve got up and started angrily pacing the floor.

Mike said nothing; there was no talking to Steve when he was like this. He was going to have to work through his anger and frustration on his own. Mike wasn't sure what to say anyway.

"You know what Amy's gonna say?" Steve asked, turning back to Mike.

Mike simply shook his head.

"She's going to say the same thing she said to me earlier about I.A...that Paul won. None of this shit would be happening right now if not for him. She wouldn't be stuck in a hospital, depressed as hell, getting bombarded with bad news left and right."

"Wait...I.A.? What are you talking about?" Mike asked.

"You know Sergeant Holloway?"

"Unfortunately."

"Well he apparently came and paid Amy a visit this morning, quizzing her down about the shooting...and about us. Mike, he knew things that weren't in any report! It sounds like he tried throwing them in her face to get her to say we're seeing each other so he can pin conflict of interest on me or something. Can you believe that guy?!"

Mike narrowed his gaze. "Where did all this come from?"

Steve shrugged. "I have no idea. He knew that Paul called her Monday night and that she then came to my place. No one except you knew that, did they?"

Mike shook his head. "I didn't tell anyone." He sat and thought a moment.

Steve started pacing again. "She was so worried about it that she threw herself into a panic attack. Now this."

"All you can do is be there for each other," Mike said quietly. He wished he had some wise words to make everyone's pain, including his own, magically disappear.

"How'd she take it?" Steve asked, indicating Jasmine.

Mike sighed. "She tried running away."

Steve hung his head and walked over to where she was lying. He stood there for a moment and watched her sleep. Brushing some hair away from her face didn't even wake the girl, who appeared dead to the world.

"She cried herself to sleep on the way here," Mike informed Steve.

As he continued to look at the little girl he now considered his daughter, Steve asked Mike to give him all the details of what happened in court. Mike was hesitant at first, but soon relayed all the details of the proceedings, including how Judge Harding had admonished Beatrice Lynch.

"Four months, huh?" Steve reiterated after Mike was through.

"The longest four months of your life, Buddy Boy."


	58. Chapter 58

Steve walked into Amy's room and found her asleep, but the oxygen mask had been removed. He considered letting her rest, but he had a feeling she'd be mad if he sat on this information too long without telling her.

As he approached the bed, she opened her eyes. "I thought I heard someone in here. I didn't expect you back so soon. I guess you just can't get enough of me." She quietly chuckled.

When she got no response back, she said, "I thought you'd be a little more excited to see me," repeating what Steve had greeted her with earlier.

That made him smile, but it quickly turned back to a frown. "I'm always happy to see you...it's just…" He sat down on the bed.

"This I.A. stuff is bothering you more than you want me to know, isn't it? I wish you'd tell me that." There was a twinge of sadness in her voice.

"No, Baby, it's not that, honest."

She watched his face for a sign that would clue her in to what he was thinking. Seeing nothing, she moved on. "Oh, did you ever hear from Mike? How's the hearing going?"

She got her sign. Steve blinked several times and looked at the floor the second she mentioned the hearing.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I lost, didn't I? They gave my baby away."

Steve said nothing. He simply took her hand as she began to weep.

"Why? How could they do that to her...to me?"

"I don't know," was all Steve muttered.

"You do too!" she snapped, opening her eyes. "Don't lie to me!"

He closed his eyes and pursed his lips.

"Tell...me," Amy angrily demanded.

"It's because you're not well enough to take care of her!" he spit out.

Amy's breathing became ragged, and Steve could see beads of sweat developing on her forehead. He knew exactly what was going through her mind.

"Now you know why I didn't want to tell you? You're lying there blaming this on yourself! You're not here because of anything you did! Paul put you here; blame him! Your mother put you here; blame her! This is not your fault! You said yourself yesterday that all this wasn't our fault and we need to stop blaming ourselves, so take your own advice!"

Amy was still weeping, but she was also stunned by Steve's reaction. Deep down, she knew he was right, but too many bad things had happened all at once, and her brain just couldn't handle anything more. She acted like she was going to say something in defense of herself, but she had nothing left but tears, so she just let go.

Whether he should have or not, Steve gently took her shoulders, raised her off the bed, and wrapped her up in loving embrace. She reciprocated, squeezing him as tightly as she could. Much to his chagrin, Steve, also at a breaking point with the stress of the past several days, started crying about as hard as Amy. For the next several minutes, the two sat like this, crying on and comforting each other as they released a hellish week's worth of stress and sadness.

Amy made the first move out of the embrace. "I'm sorry I made you cry. I didn't mean to," she said, wiping tears off his face with her good hand.

"You're the only one allowed to do that," he said, moving his lips into a slight grin. "Just don't tell anyone how much I cry over you; I have a reputation to uphold."

Amy couldn't help but grin as well. If he could manage to bring some sunshine to the darkness that surrounded them, then she too could make an effort. "I promise. No one you work with will think you're anything but a real bad ass."

Steve snorted. "I doubt they think that anyway."

Amy looked down at her lap. "Why does this keep happening to me? And why does it rub off onto everyone around me? You and Jasmine shouldn't have to suffer because of me. It's not your faults that I attract people from hell like shit attracts flies. What did I ever do to deserve being a jinx?"

Steve kissed the top of her head. "You're not a jinx...but it does seem that way, doesn't it?"

"Is this permanent? Is Jasmine never coming back?"

Steve shook his head. "No! That's the good news; it's only for four months to allow you time to heal. Mike said the judge wasn't at all thrilled to give Beatrice custody, but with you in the hospital, he really had no choice."

"A hundred and twenty days…" she muttered quietly.

"And you know what you're going to do in those hundred and twenty days?"

She shook her head.

"You are going to concentrate on getting back to normal. You're going to do everything the doctor says, you're going to think of something to smile about every day so you don't wallow in pity all the time…"

"You really think that one is possible?" Amy asked, cutting him off.

"If you have a goal to obtain and keep your mind on, yeah. And if we keep your mother out of your life."

"And you in it."

"Not a worry; I'm not going anywhere. Well, I do get discharged tomorrow, but let's face it - I'll be here more than I am now."

Amy hugged him again.

"And most of all...you're not going to blame anything on yourself. Can you do this for me?" Steve asked, rubbing her back.

"I'd do anything for you."

"Good."

"But what are we going to do for Jasmine? I mean, we're adults and we'll get through it...even if it takes pills and bartenders...but she's not going to handle this well at all! She wasn't handling it well as it was unless I was around! I can't sit by and watch this kill my baby! How'd she react anyway? I assume Mike told her…"

Steve pulled away from the embrace. "He said she tried running away, but only got as far as Van Ness."

Amy's face fell. "Oh my God! She almost ran into traffic to get away from this?"

"Actually, you should be a little proud. When she got to the street, she stopped because you told her never to cross streets without an adult."

"Guess at least I taught her something. Running away though? She never did anything that drastic before!"

"Amy, the best we can do right now is make sure she knows that doing something like that is wrong. We'll remind her of how we want her to act, and how acting like a good girl will get her through the four months faster. She'll listen to us, right?"

Amy nodded.

"Okay. And for the next couple days, we'll try to make her as happy as we can. It won't be easy, considering we're not too happy either, but we'll fake it if we have to."

"When do we have to give her up?"

"Monday morning."

"Where is she now?"

"Asleep in my room, with Mike."

"Can you bring her down here?"

Steve leaned over and kissed Amy on the forehead. "Sure. We'll be right back." He stood up, but kept looking at Amy. "This will be over before we know it. We'll all wonder why we spent so much time worrying."

Amy looked up at him. "I pray you're right, Steve."

* * *

Steve walked back into his room just as Mike slammed the telephone receiver down on the cradle.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked, startled by his partner's angry demeanor.

"I am going to wring every one of their necks," he barked.

"Who should I pray for?" Steve didn't envy anyone who made Mike that upset.

"Those idiots in I.A.!"

"Oh, well, I'm not praying for them. Don't tell me you actually called them?"

"Yes I called them! I want to know what they think they plan to do in this witch hunt against you!"

"And?" Steve asked, not sure he wanted to even know.

"No one is talking of course! I was on the phone the entire time you were gone and not one person would tell me what's going on! They wouldn't even confirm or deny an investigation is underway!"

Steve looked over at Jasmine, surprised she was sleeping through Mike's tirade.

"Well, don't get yourself in trouble in the process. I'm sure I'll hear all about it soon enough." He sighed and ran in hand through his hair in frustration.

Mike just sat there, red-faced, staring at the wall in front of him. Steve could see the gears in his head moving wildly.

"Look, why don't you get out of here for the night, huh? I was able to bribe the nurses to let Jasmine stay here tonight since I'm getting out in the morning anyway, so go home, cool down, and reevaluate it all in the morning." Steve shook his head; he couldn't believe he was being the voice of reason instead of Mike.

Mike let out a held-in breath and stood up from his chair. "You're right. You'll be okay with her tonight?"

Steve nodded. "She'll be spending a lot of time in Amy's room anyway. Go."

Mike looked over at the sleeping child. "Well, call me if you need me. I hope she'll be okay. What time is discharge tomorrow?"

"Around ten I think."

"Since she's staying with me anyway, why don't you come stay at the house over the weekend? That way you can be with her. Plus, it'll be nice to have some company." Mike smiled.

Steve looked at him suspiciously. "Company, huh? You're not worried about me or anything and feel the need to keep an eye on me."

"I never worry about you, Buddy Boy." He walked over to Steve and patted him on the shoulder. "Be good to her. To them both."

"Yes, Dad," Steve joked, pushing Mike away. "See you tomorrow."

As Mike left the room, Steve leaned down to Jasmine and whispered into her ear.

She rustled and turned her head in the direction of the sound. When she saw who it was, she initially got excited but her exaltation quickly turned to heartbreak.

Steve sat down and had her sit up. For the second time in an hour, he sat for several minutes consoling a crying lady.

"They're kidnapping me," she finally said.

Steve rubbed her back. "Princess, they're not kidnapping you." Then he thought of the definition of kidnapping - forcing a person to go with someone they don't want to go with. The only difference was that this was legal. Legal kidnapping. Steve sighed. He hated the system sometimes.

He pulled Jasmine away and looked in her reddened eyes. "We still have the weekend together, so let's not spend it crying all the time. What do you say we go get something to eat and then go see Mommy?"

Jasmine sniffed. "Can I order anything I want?"

"Anything. We're going to make this the best weekend ever!"

Jasmine nodded and, despite the fact that he wasn't supposed to lift anything over ten pounds, Steve lifted her off the bed and the two walked down to the hospital cafeteria hand in hand.

* * *

"Wake up, Sleepy Head," Steve said as he sat on the edge of Amy's bed.

She slowly opened her eyes and saw her boyfriend sitting there with a dish of Jell-O squares in his hand.

"What is that for?" she asked.

"A little birdy told me you haven't been eating."

She gave him an annoyed look. "My stomach hurts."

"Yeah, because it's empty! Antibiotics, pain relievers, and an empty stomach is a bad combination."

"The food is terrible," she muttered.

"Yeah, it's a hospital. But...I asked my personal assistant what would be good for someone with an upset stomach, and she suggested her favorite thing on the cafeteria menu."

"Jell-O? Who is this personal assistant?"

Steve moved over enough so that Amy could see Jasmine sitting on the chair by the bed.

"Hi, Mommy," she said, popping a red Jell-O square in her mouth. "Daddy's letting me eat Jell-O for dinner."

"Not just Jell-O! You have a peanut butter sandwich too." Steve didn't want to get in trouble with Amy for feeding Jasmine junk food.

Amy smiled and her eyes welled up with tears. "Hi, Baby. Daddy's a pretty nice guy, huh? How are you?"

She shrugged and continued to eat her treat.

"Yeah, me too. I hear you had a pretty bad day."

Steve took her Jell-O dish, set it down on a table, and helped Jasmine get up onto Amy's bed.

"Daddy said you cried too," she said, taking the dish back.

Amy put her arm around Jasmine. "I did...a lot. What happened at court made me sad."

Jasmine looked up at Amy. "Me too, but Daddy said we have to try and be happy this weekend. He said we're going to do fun stuff, and that we can't cry anymore." She ate another Jell-O square.

Amy looked at Steve. "Daddy's a smart guy." She then looked at the Jell-O on the table. "So you think Jell-O will be good for me to eat, huh?"

Jasmine nodded. "You used to make me eat it when my tummy hurt."

"Ohhh...busted. You have to eat it now," Steve teased. He picked up the dish and handed it to Amy. "We even got you the red ones. They're apparently your favorite!"

Amy grinned. "I can't stand the other colors - especially yellow."

"Yellow! Yuck!" Jasmine declared, sticking out her tongue.

Both Amy and Steve laughed.

"Alright, I'll eat the Jell-O...but only if you eat it with me, Keller." She gave him a smile.

Happy to see two of his favorite girls happy for the time being, he smiled, grabbed a square, and popped it in his mouth.

* * *

The rest of the evening was spent eating dinner and watching cheesy black and white monster movies on television. Amy had successfully eaten her half of the Jell-O - and half the pepperonis off Steve's slice of pizza - while Jasmine ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. For a few hours, the three had a good time making fun of the movies...and forgetting their troubles.

Around ten o'clock, Steve looked to his left and found both Amy and Jasmine sound asleep. He smiled, stood up, and turned off the television. He then lightly patted Amy on the shoulder.

She opened one eye and looked up at him. "Did I fall asleep?"

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, you did. So did she," he mentioned, pointing at Jasmine.

Amy looked at the girl sleeping next to her. "Guess we both thought that movie was good." She nudged Jasmine, who mumbled something incoherent and turned over.

Steve walked around the bed and tried to wake her up. She mumbled something else.

"What did she say?" Amy asked Steve.

"It sounded like 'Don't take me.' "

Amy sighed. "Great. The nightmares are already starting, and she's still here."

"Now don't start thinking like that," Steve groaned.

Amy shook Jasmine a little harder. "Jasmine, wake up. It's time to go to Daddy's room."

The little girl finally opened her eyes. "I stay here," she whispered and closed her eyes again.

"Sorry, Princess, you can't stay with Mommy. Sit up." Steve took her hand and pulled her up.

Jasmine looked in his eyes. "Do I get to come back tomorrow?"

Steve nodded. "We can spend all day here if you want."

She yawned. "Okay." She turned to her mother. "'Night, Mommy." She gave Amy a kiss on the lips and hopped off the bed.

"Can't you both stay?" Amy suddenly asked sadly. "I don't want you guys to leave!"

"Amy, you know she can't stay with you; you're in too bad of shape."

Amy's face fell.

"You know what I mean," Steve said, realizing how bad that sounded.

"Yeah...that's why I can't take care of her anymore." Her voice wavered.

Steve just looked at her. His non-verbals told her that she was already breaking her promise. She looked down at her lap. "I just don't want to be alone."

"You were fine earlier. What changed?"

"Last night. I just keep thinking about how I don't remember it and how petrified I felt when I woke up. I can't go through that again!"

"And you won't! You just had a really bad dream, but I bet that won't happen again. If you do wake up scared again, call me and I'll talk you through it."

Amy looked unsure, so Steve added, "You can do this! You made it through Wednesday's ordeal alive, so you can make it through anything. Remember how strong you are! Look...you're tired, so go back to sleep and you won't even know we're gone. If you start thinking bad things, just listen for my voice telling you the opposite."

"How can I hear your voice if you're not here?"

"It's in there; you'll hear it. You heard it in the ambulance, didn't you?"

Amy smiled and nodded.

"We'll see you tomorrow after I get discharged." He took Jasmine's hand and began walking toward the door, but she pulled him back.

"You forgot something!" she insisted.

Steve looked down at her. "What did I forget?"

"You forgot to kiss Mommy goodnight and tell her you love her."

Amy frowned. "Yeah, you did!"

Steve threw his hands up. "How could I forget something like that?" he said as he walked back over to Amy.

"Don't make it a habit," Amy said as he bent over and kissed her gently, unsure how he felt about kissing her like he wanted to in front of a six year old.

"And apparently I love you too," Steve teased as he pulled away.

"Gee...thanks, Keller. That was so romantic," she replied sarcastically.

"Just call me Romeo. Now go to sleep." Once again he grabbed Jasmine's hand and walked with her out the door.

Amy closed her eyes, but heard one last thing before her loves were completely out of the room. Jasmine asked Steve, "Who's Romeo?"

Amy chuckled. _God_ _am_ _I_ _gonna_ _miss_ _that_ _girl_, she thought.

* * *

The room was dark, and Amy was dead to the world when Margaret came in, dressed once again in the same nurse's uniform and wig. She noticed that Amy had been disconnected from the heart monitor but relieved to see she still had the IV line in her arm.

She walked over to the bed and stood over her daughter, watching her sleep. As she watched, she kept wondering how the girl could have betrayed her like this. How could Amy have left her alone? How could she have fallen in love with such a horrible man? However, she still had faith that Amy could be saved with the proper convincing.

Pulling out another syringe from her pocket, Margaret once again pulled the saline line out of the cannula and injected the drug straight into Amy's bloodstream. She then reinserted the saline line and dropped the syringe in her pocket. She sat down on the chair next to the bed and waited.

After roughly five minutes, Amy became restless. She tossed and turned, finally throwing her eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Her breathing became rapid, and she began to perspire.

"Amy?" Margaret said.

Amy jumped as the noise startled her. She turned to see a nurse looking at her. "Who are you?" she asked, frightened.

"I have some bad news for you, Amy."

"What?" Amy asked, not understanding what she'd just heard.

"Amy, I need to tell you something. Amy, can you look at me?"

"Who said that?" Amy asked, panicking. Her eyes were moving all around the room and a rapid pace.

Margaret stood up and grabbed Amy's face, forcing it in her direction. "Amy, I have some bad news. Can I tell you?"

"You...you were here before. Last night...did you come back to save me?"

"Amy, listen to me. He's gone."

Amy's eyes stopped fluttering around and focused on Margaret so much that they could have bore a hole right through the woman. "What?"

"He's gone, Amy, he left you."

"Stop moving!" Amy shouted, thinking that Margaret was moving all about. Margaret was standing perfectly still. "Who left me?"

"Steve. He left you for someone better."

"Steve...Steve...no...no, Steve's upstairs."

"He's leaving, Amy. He can't take it anymore. Amy, it's for the best; you know that. He'd never stay with you anyway. He's not the type that stays, especially with an invalid."

Amy began looking around the room as if she were looking for Steve. "No...he's here...he's...somewhere."

"He found someone else, Amy. Be glad it's over before you got your heart broken."

"No!" Amy growled in a low tone. "Steve can't leave me!"

"I tried to stop him, but, well, he's fallen for one of the nurses who was taking care of him and they're running off to Jamaica tonight. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but I thought you should find it out from a friend."

Amy sat up, looked at Margaret, and started swatting at her. "Get out!" she barked. "Get out, you traitorous vulture!"

Margaret backed away. "I am sorry, Amy. Really. I suppose you could try to stop him." She shrugged before walking out the door.

Amy sat on her bed breathing heavily. Her heart was racing as fast as her mind. Suddenly all she could see were visions of Steve leaving with other women. Unlike normal visions a person conjures in their mind, Amy's were leaping out of her brain and playing out in front of her like a play.

"No...don't kiss her! She doesn't love you!" she cried to the imaginary Steve in front of her. He ignored her and continued to kiss a figment of Amy's imagination. He then turned around with the woman and started for the door.

"No, no...don't walk away from me! Steve! Give me a chance!" she cried, leaning forward and trying to reach for him. He made it out the door without looking back.

Determining that she needed to go after him, and feeling no pain, she yanked the IV line out of her arm and swung herself around so that her legs were hanging over the bed. Not understanding why she couldn't bend her right leg, which was now in a splint to prevent her knee from bending while the incision healed, she starting hitting it with her fist. It wouldn't budge, so she hopped off the bed on her left leg instead.

It was the first time since Wednesday that she'd been upright on her feet, so she soon became dizzy and nearly fell over. Bracing herself on the bed, she tried to take a step on her right leg, but the pain finally came through the drug haze and she fell over flat on her face.

The fall knocked the wind out of her and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her mind was telling her she needed to keep going though - she had to get to Steve. She attempted to pull herself forward with her arms, again not realizing one of them was broken. After the first attempt failed, she started dragging herself forward with a combination of her right arm and left leg. She made it almost to the door when it opened.

A nurse, who had come in to check her vital signs, gasped at the sight of her patient flat on the floor. She shouted down the hall for anyone to come. Soon the room was full of nurses and doctors.

"What the hell happened?" the night shift doctor, Marquez, asked anyone who was listening.

"I have no idea! I came in and found her like this!"

Marquez started shouting orders to get her off the floor and back into the bed. All attempts to touch Amy were fought with tireless resistance. She kept shouting that she needed to get to Steve and they were in her way. She also kept talking to people who weren't there and swatting at the people who were.

After ten minutes and a syringe full of Valium, the staff was finally able to get her back into the bed. She was in a calm, almost unconscious state, though her eyes were still open.

An exasperated Dr. Marquez stood at the end of Amy's bed, his hand on the back of his neck. "This hasn't happened before, has it?"

"No, Doctor!" a nurse said, as confused as he was. She and another nurse were busy tending to Amy's bleeding arm.

"I mean...I've only ever seen this kind of thing happen with substance abuse patients!" He grabbed the chart off the end of her bed and flipped through the pages. "We didn't give her anything new today that she might have reacted negatively to...so what caused this?"

Dr. Marquez walked to the side of the bed and looked into Amy's eyes. They didn't seem focused on anything. He took a small flashlight out of his lab coat pocket and tried to get a reaction. Her eyes reacted as if there was nothing there. He shook his head.

"Well, first thing we need to do is get some new x-rays. She was lying flat on broken ribs and I can't imagine there was no further damage done. Have her knee x-rayed as well. Get Sandy in here to take some blood and if she can, a urine sample. Something's got to tell us what the hell just happened here. Make sure you get that IV back in her arm."

"Right away, Doctor," one nurse said before exiting the room.

Dr. Marquez stood and watched as Amy's eyelids finally lowered to the closed position. "Fred is going to have a field day with this," he muttered.


	59. Chapter 59

_**A/N: It was my intention to post two chapters at once until this was finished, but then life got hectic all of a sudden. Working and trying to "study" for a job interview has taken away my writing time. But, one chapter is better than none. Three left. I am so appreciative of all of you who are still reading/reviewing!**_

Shortly before nine the next morning, Mike walked into Steve's room and saw him and Jasmine sitting in the armchair watching cartoons on television.

"That's the best you've looked in days," Mike told Steve, who was fully dressed and showered. "You feeling okay?"

Steve nodded. "Not bad. They told me both wounds look good, and they don't hurt _as_ much as before. It'll be nice to get out of here and sleep in a normal bed again."

Jasmine, who was sitting on Steve's lap and eating out of a small box of cereal, looked at Mike. "Daddy said he's going to stay with me at your house."

"That's right, Pumpkin."

Jasmine smiled and turned around to look at Steve. "You call me Princess and Grandpa calls me Pumpkin."

He tousled her hair. "You are a pumpkin."

Mike took a seat in a chair. "How was Amy?"

"Miserable. Worried. I have a feeling it's going to be an even longer four months than I anticipated. She seems to have put up this wall and nothing I say gets through."

"If anyone can break it down, it's you. Just don't give up on her."

"Furthest thing from my mind. Did you rattle any cages last night?"

Mike scowled. "No. I also hit a wall, but I'm not giving up either. I ended up calling Jeannie and complaining to her."

"On a Friday night? Gee, Dad, what a killjoy! The last thing I would have wanted to do on a Friday night when I was in college was talk to my father!"

Mike looked at him, feigning hurt feelings. "Well, I'm glad to know that I raised a better child than your father did," Mike said in jest.

Steve pretended to laugh. "Just watch the cartoon, will you?"

* * *

An hour later, the trio stepped off the elevator onto the third floor. On their way past the nurses' station, Fred Conrad looked up and saw them.

"Hey, Steve, Mike...you going to see Amy?"

The three turned around. "Yeah, is that not okay?" Steve asked.

"No, it's fine...it's just...can we talk first?"

Steve's heart started beating faster. "Is she alright? She's alright, isn't she?"

Mike could hear the panic in Steve's voice, so he placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I'm sure she's fine, right Fred?"

"Well…" The doctor sighed. "Last night, around two o'clock, a nurse went into Amy's room and found her lying face down on the floor. We have no idea how she even got up, but Dr. Marquez said she was clearly out of her mind."

"What do you mean, out of her mind?" Steve asked.

The apprehension in his voice was not lost on Jasmine, who suddenly wrapped herself around Steve's leg and laid her head on his hip.

Mike noticed that Steve was scaring the girl. "You know, maybe I should take Jasmine back to my house for a bit." He turned to Steve and said, "You stay here, see what's going on. Call me when you're done, and we'll come back."

Steve wasn't sure what to do. He looked at Mike and then down at Jasmine. Once he saw how terrified she looked, Steve understood Mike's motives and agreed to the plan.

"Is Mommy okay?" Jasmine asked, worry evident in her voice.

Jasmine let go of Steve's leg as he knelt down. "Princess, I'm sure she's fine. It sounds like she got a little sick overnight, but that's why she's in the hospital. The doctors and nurses are all here to take very good care of her."

Jasmine's eyes started filling up with tears.

"Don't cry, please?" Steve pleaded. "Be a strong girl for me, okay?"

She half-heartedly nodded.

Steve put his hand on the side of her face. "You go home with Grandpa right now and take a nap, huh? You didn't sleep very well last night, and I want you to be rested when you come back to see Mommy."

She gave him a hug then reluctantly backed away. She took Mike's hand and the two got back on the elevators - but not before Mike looked back at Steve. His heart was aching for the young man. Neither he nor Amy seemed to be catching a break, and Mike, wanting to be the fixer he always was, was at a loss for how to repair the damage.

After they were gone, Steve turned back to Dr. Conrad. "How was she out of her mind? She's been fine the past two days!"

The two started to walk toward Amy's room.

"As they were trying to pick her up and put her back in the bed, she kept yelling that she needed to get to you because you were leaving for Jamaica and she had to stop you. One of the nurses decided to play along and asked her why. Amy thought you were running away with a nurse. She said another nurse told her that. Apparently she was also hallucinating pretty badly and was very combative. And she couldn't have felt too much pain. She ripped the IV out of her arm for one, and for two, even putting a toe on the floor with her right leg would have caused excruciating pain at this stage. Dr. Marquez gave her some Valium and she finally passed out."

Steve looked at the floor. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "Did you ask her about it?"

Fred nodded. "She doesn't remember a thing, and I don't mean she's pretending not to remember to get out of trouble or something. She honestly has no recollection of the entire night. She doesn't remember any nurse coming in, or trying to get out of the bed...none of it."

Steve looked back up at the doctor. "She said the same thing about the night before! She mentioned something about seeing a nurse then too! What the hell is happening in that room overnight?"

Fred Conrad shrugged. "No one is in that room other than Sharilyn, her assigned night shift nurse. She's the one who found Amy on the floor. We haven't given her anything different drug-wise...Marquez had blood drawn and sent to the lab. I'm hoping it yields something. I've scheduled her for some brain scans. Maybe that concussion did more damage than we initially thought."

Steve wanted to be angry - angry that the staff seemed to let all this happen right under their noses - but deep down he knew they weren't to blame. He just wasn't sure who or what was, and he really wanted to blame someone.

"So she got out of the bed on a broken leg and ended up face first on the floor...lying on broken ribs. Did she do more damage?"

Fred sadly nodded. "I'm afraid so. It could have been worse, but...well, I'll have to consult with her orthopedist on her knee to see if it will need further surgery, but I know she caused more damage to the ribs. It sets her recovery back another couple weeks at the least."

Steve put both of his hands over his face in frustration. "Can I see her?"

"We upped her dose of morphine, but she may be awake. She's severely depressed though."

Steve folded his arms over his chest, thanked Dr. Conrad, and slowly entered Amy's room. There, in the dimly-lit room, he saw her, hooked back up to an IV, a heart monitor, and oxygen. He could hear her struggling to breathe. It took everything in him to not stand there and bawl.

Instead, he approached the bed and sat down on the side. "Amy, Honey, can you hear me?" He rubbed her arm gently.

She stirred slightly and slowly opened her eyes. "Steve…" she uttered, weakly reaching out for him.

"I'm here." He took her hand.

She closed her eyes again. "Did Dr. Conrad tell you?"

"Yeah, he did. He said you don't remember any of it."

Tears came out from under her closed eyelids. "I have no idea. Last thing I remember was you guys leaving last night. Then I wake up this morning and I'm in horrible pain and they're all telling me I got out of bed in the middle of the night. They said I kept seeing things that weren't there and that I was yelling and screaming, but no one told me what I said or why I got out of bed at all."

"They didn't tell you?" Steve found that odd, but then he thought it was probably better coming from him anyway.

"No. Did they tell you?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Apparently you were trying to get to me because you said some nurse told you I was running off to Jamaica with another nurse. Honestly, the rainbow attack from the night before makes more sense."

Amy kept her eyes closed, saying nothing for a very long time. Her silence began worrying Steve.

"What's going on in that head of yours? You're not thinking that I would actually do that, are you?"

"No...not really. I'm just trying to remember. I saw a nurse the night before, too." She spoke quietly while she contemplated the events. "Is there a nurse out to get me?"

"Well...you are in a hospital. You've probably seen more nurses in the last three days than in your whole life. One is bound to end up in a dream, though I doubt any of them are trying to kill you."

"But that first nurse...looked so much like my mom…except blonde. None of the nurses here are blonde." She trailed off, thinking about the mysterious blonde woman.

"How about the nurse you said told you I was going to Jamaica? What did she look like?"

Amy slowly opened and moved her eyes over in Steve's direction. "I have no idea. I don't remember anything. Steve?"

"What, Babe?"

"What's happening to me? Am I going insane or something?"

Steve leaned over and put his face close to hers. "No! Not at all! I bet it's all just bad nightmares and flashbacks. You've been through more than any human should in the past week, and your mind doesn't know how to deal with it."

She looked right into his comforting green eyes. "Steve...I sleep all day and nothing happens. I sleep at night, and I do things I can't remember. What the hell is going on? Am I so damaged that I'll never be able to be left alone for fear I'll jump out a window or something? Are they going to have to strap me to the bed? Honestly...is my brain that damaged now?"

Amy's voice wavered, a result of the panic that was threatening to eat her alive.

Steve set his forehead on hers. "God, Babe, I don't know. I wish I had all the answers for you. I'd love nothing more right now than to take all your worries and pain away...but I can't."

Amy heard the frustration and sadness in his voice. "You're the only thing keeping me going right now, Steven Keller, so don't you give up on me like I've given up on myself."

"I will never give up on you. I don't care how long and rough this road is, I will always be right there beside you. We're in this together. If you ever feel too weak to go on...tell me, and I'll be your strength."

"There's no way I ever did anything good enough to deserve you," she told him.

"I could say the same thing about myself," Steve replied.

"What did you ever do that was so bad?"

He smirked. "There isn't enough time in that day for that."

Amy tried to chuckle, but it hurt worse than usual. "Am I ever going to not be in pain?"

"Yeah, eventually...if you quit trying to stop me from running off to Jamaica." He winked, letting her know he was kidding.

"You really think it was all just a bad dream?"

Steve nodded.

"Then why can't I remember? If I woke up enough to talk, then why can't I remember any of it?" She yawned.

"The answer is out there. If I've learned anything being in homicide, it's that every question has an answer. Some are just harder to find than others. We'll find this one soon enough. Why don't you try to sleep now, huh?"

She took ahold of his hand a squeezed it firmly. "Don't leave...please. At least not until I'm asleep."

Steve, still holding her hand, pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. There he stayed for over an hour, long after Amy fell asleep. He kept trying to put puzzle pieces together. He really did think there was nothing to her episode other than a healing brain playing tricks on her, but her worry about not remembering anything started gnawing at him too. Dreams are often forgotten upon awakening, but being awake and not remembering something so drastic is rare.

He contemplated every cause he could think of, but none of them seemed logical or achievable. It had to be something medical, he reasoned. It was the only thing that made any sense. After a while, he gave up and decided to wait until Dr. Conrad had gotten a better look at things.

* * *

A little after one, a taxi pulled up to Mike's De Haro Street house and dropped off Steve. As the young man walked up the stairs to the front door, it opened.

"I thought you were going to call me?" Mike commented.

"I went and saw Karen," Steve told him, walking in the house.

Mike shut the door behind him. "How's she holding up?"

Steve walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch while Mike sat down in the armchair.

"Physically, about the same as Amy. Both are in for a long recovery. Mentally though...Karen acts like nothing is bothering her compared to her cousin." Steve looked down sadly. "You don't realize how bad Amy is until you put them side by side." He looked around the room. "Where's Jasmine?"

"Taking a nap. So, she didn't get much sleep last night, huh?" Mike was fishing for more details. He was hoping Steve would not choose this time to shut him out like he often did. He could tell the weight of the world was on Steve's shoulders and in similar circumstances, the boy usually chose to carry it by himself.

Steve simply shook his head. "Neither of us did. Maybe I should go check on her," Steve started, but Mike cut him off before he could fully stand up.

"She's fine, unlike you. I get that you have a lot on your mind, but whatever Fred told you has got you shaken."

"Mike, I'm fine. It's just a tough weekend, that's all. Look, I really should go check on her..." He tried standing up again, but didn't make it.

"Sit down," Mike demanded. "You are not getting away with bottling this up!"

Steve sat and wrung his hands. Mike could tell he was mad, but he didn't care. "What happened? And you will tell me!" Mike informed his partner.

Steve sat for a while, staring straight ahead. "There's just...something...and I can't put my finger on it or make any sense of it...and it's pissing me off. Karen went through a similar ordeal as Amy; she's just as damaged. The only differences are that Karen doesn't have a concussion and her attack wasn't as long, but…"

"I understand what you're getting at," Mike told him. "They both went through a similar hell at the hands of the same man, yet Amy is so much worse off than Karen."

Steve nodded.

"Well...you realize that you could take a hundred people, put them in the exact same situation, and you'd get a hundred different reactions. There isn't one way to deal with things."

Steve tousled his own hair. "I know...and I realize that Amy wasn't in the best of shape beforehand...but Mike, she doesn't remember anything! She got out of the bed with a broken leg and ribs like she didn't even feel the pain! Dr. Conrad told me that she kept insisting that some nurse had told her that I was running away to Jamaica with some other nurse and she had to stop me...but she doesn't remember any of it! She didn't remember much from the night before either."

Mike gave him a quizzical look. He could tell that Steve was highly suspicious of the situation, but he didn't completely understand why.

Steve could read the doubt on Mike's face. "I know...I thought the same thing. I told her it was all her brain trying to heal and that it was nothing more than a nightmare."

"She did have a pretty good concussion," Mike reasoned.

"But this amnesia only comes at night! She has no problems remembering anything during the day, and it's not like she's awake that whole time. That's part of the reason I went to see Karen; I wanted to see if she's been having horrible nightmares as well."

"Has she?"

Steve shook his head. "Sure, she's having a little trouble getting the images out of her head...and she feels completely responsible for Amy's kidnapping, but she's still herself. She's not paranoid that the nurses are out to get her...she's not afraid to fall asleep…"

"What do you mean, the nurses are out to get her?" Mike found that statement odd.

"Both of her dreams, or whatever they are, involved a nurse. Dr. Conrad said the only nurse that's been in her room overnight is the one assigned to her room, and she's a brunette. The nurse Amy sees is blonde."

Mike sat and read Steve's mind. "But you're not completely convinced that this is all a figment of an overactive imagination."

Steve shook his head again. "I know, it's stupid, and I have no proof, but…" He bit his lip as he felt his emotions threaten to get the best of him.

"You just want her to feel better. I understand." Mike paused. "I remember when Helen was in the hospital. There were times when the doctors seemed like they had no answers...and I'd get so mad because my wife was in pain and there was nothing I could do to stop it. You spend half your career being in charge of solving mysteries and bringing answers to families who are desperate for them, yet I was getting nothing. You can't handle the loss of control."

Steve looked at Mike. "So what you're saying is that I should stop worrying so much because all these questions I have...I can't answer them?"

"Sorry to say, but this one is all on the doctors, Buddy Boy."

"But what if there is something sinister going on?"

"Who would be doing that though? And how? The only person I can think of who would do anything toward Amy hasn't been in the hospital since I kicked her out. Trust me...I've asked. I even watched security tapes one night. Margaret never walked in the doors."

Steve sighed. "Amy asked me if she could sneak in wearing a disguise. At the time, I laughed it off as something only a desperate sociopath would try." He looked to Mike, curious about his reaction to the possibility.

"You think she'd dress up as this blonde nurse Amy thought she saw?" Mike shook his head. "No...someone would have noticed a nurse they didn't recognize, even in the middle of the night."

"Yeah...I hope so anyway." Steve yawned. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go check on Jasmine anyway. I told Dr. Conrad to call here when Amy woke up again."

Mike nodded. "Say, why don't we grab something for dinner and take it to her? I'm sure she's sick of hospital food. Then we can stay with her until she falls asleep for the night."

Steve stood up and smiled. "I think that would make her feel better. Thanks." He walked toward the stairs. "And thanks for putting up with us this week. I doubt I made it too easy."

Mike chuckled. "You never make my life easy."

"Then my life's goal has been accomplished," Steve snickered as he climbed the stairs.

* * *

Doctor Conrad called shortly before five saying that Amy was awake and asking for Steve, so the trio of he, Mike, and Jasmine grabbed some take out and headed to the hospital. Upon entering, they found Amy the same as Steve had left her, but she was awake. When she saw everyone, she smiled. She greeted Mike and thanked him for coming along as well as suggesting dinner. She then noticed that Jasmine seemed reluctant to come too close to her bed. The little girl had chosen to stay over by the wall even though Steve and Mike were standing by the bed.

"Sweetheart, why are you standing over there? Come over here and say hi to me," Amy said.

"What's all that?" Jasmine asked, pointing to all the machines attached to Amy.

Steve noticed what she was looking at and chuckled. "They're just machines, Princess. They're helping Mommy get better so she can come home. Like this one," he said, pointing to the heart monitor, "is telling us how fast or slow her heart is beating. And this one is giving her medicine." He pointed at the IV.

Jasmine came a little closer and inspected the machines. "So you don't have to swallow any of that yucky stuff you always made me take?" she asked, referring to the IV.

Amy smiled. "No, I don't. It's all coming into my arm."

"Oh. Can I have one of these the next time I get sick?"

Everyone laughed. "I think you'd rather swallow that yucky stuff," Mike told her. "They have to stick a needle in your arm for that thing."

Jasmine's eyes got real wide. "Ouch! Never mind." She stepped next to the bed and looked at Amy's face. "What that tube in your nose?"

"It's air. It's helping me breathe."

"You can't breathe?"

Amy frowned. "No, not very well. One of my lungs hurts."

Jasmine climbed up on the bed and lay down next to her mother. "I can give you one of mine. Both of mine work fine."

Amy did her best to embrace her daughter. "Thank you, Baby. You're the best little girl a mom could ever have."

Steve and Mike exchanged satisfied looks.

"What do you say we eat before this food gets cold...or before someone steals half of mine before I get to it," Steve suggested, looking at Amy and teasing her about her penchant to take his food.

Amy feigned laughter as the four got out the dinner and began eating.

The remainder of the night was spent chatting, laughing, and playing several rousing games of Rummy. At one point, Steve looked at Amy and smiled. She seemed to be in good spirits. Amy noticed him looking at her.

"What?" she asked, uncomfortable with the attention.

"Nothing. Just happy to see you smiling," he replied.

"Well...it's hard not to be happy when I'm surrounded by my newly-formed family."

Steve simply smiled.

Then Jasmine spoke up. "Mommy...if we're all your family, then why are the mean people making me go to Arizona? I told them you were my family. Why didn't they listen?"

Amy looked at her. The little girl's eyes were beginning to fill up with tears. Amy kissed her on the cheek. "I know you did, Sweetie, but right now Mommy is too sick to take care of you. But I promise, the second I get out of the hospital, I'm going to tell those mean people that you should come live with me."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know. Hopefully soon."

Jasmine frowned. "What if I just run away? I'll run away and live with the squirrels in the forest until you get better."

Both Mike and Steve looked at Amy, wondering where Jasmine would come up with an idea like that.

"It's the plot of a book we've read. A little boy runs away from home because his parents wouldn't let him have a puppy." Amy turned to Jasmine. "But what happened to the little boy when he tried to live with the squirrels?"

Jasmine didn't say anything.

"He couldn't find food, he got cold, and he was so scared of all the noises that he went back home," Amy reminded her. "Honey, your aunt's house will be better than being cold and hungry in the forest."

"Besides, there aren't any forests in southern Arizona," Steve told Jasmine.

"Then I'll run away and live with Jeannie! She lives there!"

Mike smiled. "Pumpkin, you can't live with Jeannie either. She lives in a small room with another girl at her college. Only college students can live there."

"I can go to college," Jasmine said as if it were something that happened every day.

"I think you're a little young. Besides, you need to graduate from kindergarten first," Steve responded.

Jasmine slammed her hands down in her lap. "I'm not going!"

"Sweetheart, look at me," Amy said. Jasmine did as she was told.

"I'm not any happier about this than you are, but it's our only choice right now. Sometimes in life we have to live through things we don't like in order to get to something better. You lived with your other mom and dad for a long time, and you weren't happy about that, right?"

Jasmine shook her head.

"But you made it through that fine. You'll make it through this fine too because you'll know that I'm out there waiting to bring you home. Good things are worth waiting for...and coming to live with me is a good thing, right?"

Jasmine nodded.

"Let's you and I make a promise to each other, okay? I promise to work really hard at getting better if you promise to be a very good girl while you're in Arizona. This means no running away and no back talk. Can you do this for me?"

Jasmine hugged Amy. "Okay, Mommy."

"You promise?" Amy prompted.

"I promise," Jasmine said.

"So do I. It will be four months at the most, and then you and I will find a cute little apartment to live in and we can be happy."

Steve gave her a look; he wasn't thrilled with her last sentence because it seemed to exclude him. He wisely sloughed it off knowing now was not the time the get into a discussion of the future.

Mike noticed Steve's demeanor, so he looked at his watch, hoping it was late enough for an escape. "It's getting close to someone's bedtime," he mentioned.

Steve looked up at the clock on the wall. It was a little past ten. "Yeah, I think we ought to head home." He stood up and looked at Jasmine, who was falling asleep on Amy's shoulder. "C'mon, Princess, time to go back to Grandpa's."

Jasmine sat up and looked at Steve and then at Amy. "Do we have to?"

Amy looked at Steve fearfully. "No! You don't have to leave! I'm not tired!"

"Sweetheart, you need your sleep as much as she does," Steve told Amy.

"No...no, I'm fine. Please stay a little longer!"

Steve helped Jasmine hop off the bed and then put his hands on Amy's face. "This is not you talking - it's the fear. Don't let the fear win!"

Amy started crying. "I can't Steve! I can't go through another night like that!"

Steve looked up at Mike and the two men exchanged looks.

"Maybe you should stay, Buddy Boy. At least for a while." Mike took ahold of Amy's hand. "No sense in making her miserable. Plus...you'd get to test your theory…" He knew Steve was wondering if there was anything going on in Amy's room overnight, and staying there would be the best way to find out.

Amy looked at Steve imploringly. "Stay, please! Mike thinks it's a good idea, and he's smart, so now you have to stay."

Steve chuckled. "I guess I could stay."

Jasmine tapped Steve on the arm. "You're not staying at Grandpa's with me?"

He looked down at her. "Well, Princess…"

"You said you'd be staying with me tonight! I want you to stay with me!" she cried, wrapping herself around Steve's leg.

Amy looked down at her daughter. The scene broke her heart. "Sweetie, it's okay. Daddy will go home with you."

Steve looked at Amy, confused.

"She needs you more right now," she told him.

"Are you sure…?" he asked.

She nodded. "We don't have much time left with her...and I'm not going anywhere. Go." She turned to Mike and squeezed his hand. "This is what parenthood is all about, right? Making sacrifices for your child?"

Mike nodded. "Indeed."

Steve looked down at Jasmine. "I guess you got your wish."

She looked up at him and smiled but refused to let go of his leg.

Steve then looked back at Amy. "But what about you?"

With her free hand, she grabbed his arm. "You were right...it's probably just my anxiety talking. I bet I can get them to give me something that will knock me out all night. If I'm sedated, then I won't have any nightmares, right?" She tried to smile like she believed what she was saying, but she really didn't.

Steve slowly nodded, though he wasn't a hundred percent convinced either. "You're sure?"

Amy nodded.

Steve leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "I will be back first thing in the morning."

Amy nodded again, trying to keep from crying. She wanted nothing more than to have him stay, but she knew she could handle the loneliness better than Jasmine. Mike and Jasmine also said their goodbyes and the three left Amy to her thoughts.

Immediately she felt like the walls were closing in on her, so she pulled the blanket up around her as snug as she could and closed her eyes. If she concentrated hard enough, she could take her mind anywhere but that room...at least she hoped.


	60. Chapter 60

_**A/N: I apologize for taking so long to post an update! I got the job fair interview out of the way though (ugh), so I was finally able to concentrate on this. For your patience, you get the rest of the story! Hope you enjoy! There will be another A/N at the end of the last chapter. :)**_

Mike, Steve, and Jasmine climbed the steps up to Mike's front door. When they got to the top, Mike saw a package on his front stoop.

"This wasn't here when we left, was it?" Steve inquired.

Mike shook his head. "And today's mail had already come." He picked up the package and read the return address, smiling. "It's from Jeannie. I bet I know what it is."

Steve gave him a curious look. "What would Jeannie be sending you?"

Mike took his keys out of his pocket and unlocked his front door. "Not me, her," he said, pointing to Jasmine after everyone was in the house.

"Me? Aunt Jeannie sent me an envelope?" She looked confused.

Mike took the envelope into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Jasmine sat down next to him and Steve sat down next to her.

"Why would Jeannie send Jasmine something?" Steve asked.

"Well, when I was talking to her last night about everything, she told me she knew the perfect thing for Jasmine and she just had to send it," Mike explained as he ripped open the envelope.

"I hope it's a pony," Jasmine declared. "I can take the pony to Arizona and then ride him back to San Francisco."

"You promised Mommy you weren't going to run away, remember?" Steve said.

"Riding a pony home isn't running away," Jasmine insisted. "The pony is doing the running, not me!"

Steve gave her a _I don't think so_ look.

"Okay...no pony," she uttered dejectedly, leaning up against Steve.

Mike looked in the envelope and found a hardcover picture book inside. He pulled it out along with a note.

Once Jasmine saw the pink of the cover and the word 'princess', she gasped. "A princess book!"

She took the book from Mike and looked at the cover, which had an illustration of a blonde, long-haired princess wearing a flowing pink dress and looking sad as she stared longingly at a castle. "Daddy! You have to read this to me!"

"I can do that. What did Jeannie write?" he asked Mike.

Mike smiled. "She says she saw this book awhile back, and after I told her what had happened to Jasmine, she immediately knew this book would be perfect for her." Mike chuckled. "That girl has more tricks up her sleeve."

"Just like her old man," Steve said, playfully punching Mike in the shoulder.

"Let's read this now!" Jasmine announced.

"How about you go get your pajamas on, and then I'll read it to you as a bedtime story?" Steve suggested.

Jasmine excitedly leapt off the couch and bounded up the stairs.

Steve looked the book over. "I wonder why this particular book is so perfect."

"I wonder how high your voice can go. You have to sound like the character you know," Mike informed him seriously.

Steve looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Mike laughed heartily.

"Ohh...I see. You don't think I can make this book fun to listen to? Huh. Well, I'll show you." Steve got up off the couch and started for the stairs. Mike did the same.

"I'll have you know that I took an acting class in college," Steve informed Mike.

Mike looked at him sideways. "You, an actor?"

"Yeah! How do you think I pull off all that undercover work so brilliantly?"

"I stand corrected, Hot Shot!" Mike put up his hands in surrender. The two began climbing the stairs.

When they got to the top, Mike asked, "And just what prompted you to enroll in Acting 101?"

"The cute girls."

"Oh...I figured as much!" Mike patted Steve on the back as the two laughed.

Half an hour later, the three were gathered in Jeannie's old room. Jasmine was tucked into bed and Steve was lying beside her. Mike had brought in a chair and pulled it up next to the bed. He couldn't wait to hear his partner read a princess book to a kindergartener.

As Steve read - changing his voice as needed for the various characters - he and Mike came to realize why Jeannie had been insistent on sending this particular book to Jasmine. It was about a small princess who was treated poorly at home by her family, so she set out to find a new one. Her journey took her to another castle where she found a family willing to take her in, but this didn't turn out to be much better than her previous situation. Instead of teasing and calling her names, this new family ignored her. The princess became very lonely and wished that a nice couple would come along and be her new family. She didn't care if they weren't royalty or didn't live in a castle - she just wanted to be loved. Her wish finally came true in the form of some new servants hired to clean her new family's castle. This servant couple treated the princess just like she was theirs, and they wished they could adopt her. As is true with most children's stories, the tale ended happily as the servant couple was allowed to adopt the princess and take her to their home as their daughter.

Jasmine did not catch on to how much this story mirrored her own life, so Steve and Mike explained it to her.

"So see, little princess, Amy and I are the servant couple and your Aunt Beatrice is like the couple who ignored her. And even though the princess had to live with the other couple for a while, who did she finally get to live with at the end?" Steve asked her.

"You and Mommy," she answered, grinning as she lay looking at Steve.

"Exactly. She didn't have to live with the mean people forever and neither will you. Remember that. Plus, even though the servant couple didn't live in the castle, they were never very far away, were they?"

Jasmine sleepily shook her head.

"And neither are we. Arizona isn't very far from California. Me and Mommy and Grandpa and Aunt Jeannie are always close by. You think you can be like this princess and wait for Mommy and I to come get you?"

Jasmine nodded. "Read it again."

"You need to go to sleep. We'll read it again tomorrow. Maybe I'll make Grandpa read it next time."

"You think you're so smart, don't you, Buddy Boy? It so happens that I am an expert book reader, aren't I, Pumpkin?"

Jasmine nodded again. "He's excellent."

"Excellent, huh? How much did you pay her to say that?" Steve asked Mike.

The two laughed as Mike stood up. He said goodnight to Jasmine and left the room. Steve was about to get up, but Jasmine grabbed his arm.

"Stay here, Daddy, please," she said in a small, sad voice.

Steve lay back down and Jasmine wrapped herself around him.

"I love you, Daddy," Jasmine said sleepily before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Steve sighed and kissed the top of her head. As he wrapped his arm around her, he said, "I love you too, Princess."

He reached over and turned off a lamp that was sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. Closing his eyes, he tried to fall asleep as well, but his thoughts went straight to Amy. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd make it through the night. On the way out, Steve and Mike had talked to Dr. Marquez and he agreed to watch Amy's room closely overnight. As his mind and body gave into exhaustion, Steve had to comfort himself in the knowledge that people would be watching Amy...and that even though he wasn't making her night better, he was helping someone who needed him just as much.

* * *

Margaret Johnson stood outside a small shop at the corner of 22nd and Potrero talking on a pay phone. As usual, she was wearing her nurse disguise under a black coat, but this time she had on a long black wig instead of the short blonde one. Over her shoulder was a large leather purse that was big enough to use as a travel bag.

"So everything is ready? Tomorrow night is when it's happening?" she asked the person on the other end of the line.

"It's all set. I'm flying in tomorrow afternoon. I'll fill you in on the exact details then. Hopefully around eight or nine o'clock tomorrow night, we'll be on our way back to LA."

"Why couldn't it have been tonight? I'm getting tired of waiting," Margaret whined.

"Because it just didn't work out that way. Tomorrow is better than never, isn't it?"

"Yeah, you're right. So I will see you tomorrow then?"

"My plane lands shortly after two."

"I'll be there," Margaret said before hanging up the phone. She then turned and looked at the building across the street - San Francisco General. It was late, and there wasn't nearly the activity as during the day, which made Margaret happy. Sneaking in was easier when no one was around to notice - especially a couple of meddling cops.

She double checked her pocket for her trusty syringe. She hadn't planned on another dose; she figured the doctors were plenty convinced of Amy's mental breakdown, but one more time couldn't hurt. Content that her secret weapon was securely in her pocket, Margaret stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, looked both ways, and crossed Potrero.

She entered through the emergency entrance; it looked less suspicious to go in that way late at night as there were always people coming in and out of the ER. The past two nights, no one gave a second look to a nurse walking around the hospital - tonight was no different. She made her way through the emergency waiting room and over to the stairs. Taking the elevator was risky as it was right by the third floor nurses' station. The stairs were at the other end of the hall and there was never anyone hanging around.

Arriving on the third floor, Margaret slowly opened the door and looked down the corridor. Satisfied with how deserted it was, she walked into the hallway and toward Amy's room. Much to her surprise however, there was a nurse standing outside Amy's room reading a chart. Margaret hid around a corner and watched. Soon that nurse was joined by another.

"What the hell?" Margaret muttered.

"Did you check in on her?" one nurse asked the other.

"Yeah. She seems fine. Sleeping peacefully...vitals all good."

"How often are we supposed to check in on her?"

One nurse shrugged. "I figured whenever I was walking by I'd pop in, or when I was between patients. I figure that will be about three times an hour."

"I'll try to do that too then. Once every ten minutes sounds good as long as we don't keep her awake."

_Are you kidding me? I can't do this in ten minutes!_ Margaret thought. Then, as if something was looking out for her, an alarm went off down at the other end of the hall. Both nurses rushed in that direction and Margaret heard someone shout, "He's coding!"

The hallway was empty, allowing Margaret to freely wander into Amy's room. Once inside, Margaret slipped into the bathroom and changed out of the nurse's uniform and into something that would have appealed to the gothic set. It was a long, flowing black lace dress complete with a black woven shawl, which Margaret draped over her head. Between that and the hair, she looked like death's cousin.

She slipped out of the bathroom with the syringe and checked to see if Amy was asleep. She seemed oblivious to the world, so Margaret quickly did her nightly routine of removing the IV, injecting the drug, and replacing the IV line. This time though, she didn't wait for the drug to kick in and wake up Amy - she did that herself.

"Good morning, Sweetheart," she cooed.

Amy stirred but stayed asleep.

"Honey, wake up." Margaret gently shook Amy's shoulder.

In her sleep-induced haze, Amy muttered, "Steve, just let me sleep."

The mention of Steve made Margaret's blood boil. Not only did she simply hate him and everything she thought he'd done to her daughter, but if Amy was mumbling his name in bed, he'd obviously taken the poor girl's virtue too.

"Amy, wake up!" Margaret demanded, shaking Amy's shoulder harder.

Amy forced her eyes open and saw she was face to face with someone who looked like her mother. "Mom?" she asked, squinting her eyes to get a better look.

"Yes, Sweetie, it's Mom," Margaret said sweetly.

"You...you're not supposed to be here. No...Mike told you not to come back." There was a twinge of fear in Amy's voice.

"Well, I'm not really here in the physical sense," Margaret explained.

Amy looked her mother up and down. "You look like the Grim Reaper's mother."

Margaret shrugged. "More like his messenger."

Amy gave her a quizzical glance. "What are you talking about? Did you come to kill me?" She started gazing around the room. The drug was starting to kick in and the room was getting blurry.

"What would your life be like without Steve in it?" Margaret asked.

Amy just stared at her. "Did you come to kill Steve?"

"What would your life be like? Would it be worth living?" Margaret was fishing for an answer.

Amy turned away and thought her question over.

Margaret sat at the edge of the bed, facing away from Amy, and dropped more hints as to the kind of answer she wanted. "Is it worth living now? You're stuck in the hospital with little hope of getting out. If you do, you'll be disabled. What healthy, virile man wants a woman who can't provide for him, you know? He'll wander. Imagine having to watch the love of your life with another woman…"

She turned around and saw Amy's reaction. The girl's eyes had glazed over and she appeared to be fighting back tears or anger...or something.

"Even if you end up fine, you're going to have to face the fact that you're just average. Is Steve just average? Guys like him...they're reserved for a certain type of woman...one who's above average at the very least."

Margaret knew exactly what to say to get under Amy's skin. She had never even met Steve, and she certainly didn't know anything about his and Amy's relationship, but she still knew the exact things to say to make Amy doubt everything.

"He'll leave me…" Amy whispered. As the drug gained power over her mind, she began hallucinating like the night before. In front of her stood Steve, surrounded by other women, all of whom were far better looking than Amy - in her eyes anyway.

Unlike the night before however, Amy found herself in somewhat of an out-of-body experience. She was watching herself watching Steve slowly kill her as he flirted with and kissed the imaginary beauty queens. The figurative knives he was stabbing into her heart felt more literal than anything she had felt before. The longer she watched, the more physically sick she became. This man had sworn he was hers and hers alone, yet here he was, acting as if her feelings had never meant anything to him. All the "I love you's" had been lies, said only to string her along. Amy had never felt more worthless.

As she opened her mouth to beg for him to reconsider, he turned to her.

"Really, Amy...why are you so shocked? You didn't actually think there was a future in this, did you?" He began to laugh.

"But you said..." Amy began in protest, but Steve cut her off.

"You were a convenient opportunity, that's all! It's not like I was ever looking for a life-long love affair. There are too many beautiful women out there to get stuck waking up to the same dreary face every morning. Besides, if I do ever feel like settling down...I certainly wouldn't pick you. I don't want to babysit an emotional, pathetic mess like you for the rest of my life."

Both Amys started to shake. "But you said you loved me. You swore you loved me!"

Steve just shrugged. "So I lied. I never loved you. _Never_."

His words cut a gaping hole in her heart. As he and his bevy of beauties laughed at Amy, she felt her body go numb. It was as if her whole reason for living had been sucked out of her and what was left was a flat, deflated pile of skin and bones.

In reality, Steve's words were Margaret's, carefully whispered into Amy's drug-riddled brain. They came out in Steve's voice though, so Amy believed them as gospel.

Margaret stood in front of her daughter and took the girl's head in her hand. "Come home with me. Things are so much better there."

"Home..." Amy whispered as tears streamed down her face. "I want to go home. See Daddy. Take me home," she said, looking straight into her mother's eyes.

Margaret smiled. These were the words she'd wanted to hear her only child say for over two years. "Baby, I can't be the one to do it; you have to do it. But you will. You will...and I'll be waiting."

She gently kissed her daughter's forehead and walked back into the bathroom to change into her escape costume.

In the meantime, Amy's sudden despair was eating her alive. The pain was worse than what Paul had inflicted upon her, and she couldn't stand it for another second. She looked furiously around the room for something, anything that would make the pain cease. Then she laid her eyes on the IV line. Taking ahold of it, she threw it around her neck like a scarf and pulled as hard as her diminished strength would allow.

Margaret's plan was for Amy to contemplate her life for a while, allowing her mother to make a clean getaway before the medical staff rushed in to save the day, but she underestimated her daughter's poor mental state - and the depth of her love for Steve. The heart monitor began beeping rapidly just as Margaret was slipping into the nurse's uniform. Within seconds, a nurse and Dr. Marquez rushed in and found Amy attempting to end her life.

Margaret panicked, but she was less worried about whether her daughter would live or not than she was about getting caught. Her plan would never work if anyone, especially Steve and Mike, knew she'd been there. She hid in the corner and prayed that everyone left quickly.

She heard more people coming in, discussing what was happening and if Amy had done herself any damage. She heard her daughter cough several times, and people ran in and out of the room. After hearing someone mention staying in the room, Margaret knew the only way she'd get out of the bathroom was to sneak out while there was a large, distracted crowd.

Quickly gathering her stuff, she peeked her head out the door and was pleased to see no one looking in her direction. Quiet as a mouse, she slipped out of the bathroom and out the door completely undetected. The hallway was deserted, so she hurried toward the stairwell and left the third floor, pleased with her accomplishments.

* * *

Sleep was not coming easily to Mike. He kept thinking about Steve, Amy, Jasmine, and the pain they were all enduring. He always hated to see his friends and family suffering, but in this instance he also felt powerless to change the course of events. He thought about Steve's suspicions. He'd learned long ago not to ignore the man's intuition, so even though what he was thinking sounded impossible, Mike knew not to sweep it under the rug so fast.

He tried thinking of the who, what, why, and how of the case, but came up with zero answers. Nothing but a medical abnormality made any sense to him. He hated it when he couldn't come up with any concrete explanations, and the stress was not helping his insomnia. No longer satisfied to lay in bed hoping to drift off, Mike got up and decided to head to the kitchen for some coffee; he wasn't going to sleep anyway.

On his way, he peeked into Jeannie's room. He hadn't heard Steve moving around after he left him and Jasmine, so he wasn't surprised when he found the man still lying in the bed, his arm around Jasmine, fast asleep. The two seemed to be clinging to each other as if one of them would disappear during the night. It broke his heart to see his friend and partner so heartbroken. It amazed him how quickly Steve had taken to Jasmine and to parenthood, and now he wasn't going to get to see the relationship blossom. He had a feeling Steve would be a pill for a while after Jasmine left, but as long as Amy was still around, everything would be bearable. Steve loved Jasmine, but he adored Amy.

Mike left the hallway and headed to the kitchen. As he started the coffee percolating, the telephone rang, startling him. No one expects their phone to ring at three in the morning, and when it does, it's rarely good news. Hurriedly but apprehensively, Mike picked up the receiver, hoping the noise didn't wake his guests. He soon found out that his apprehension had been warranted. On the line was Fred Conrad calling for Steve. The doctor explained that night's activities to Mike, whose heart broke right there in the kitchen. He told Fred that Steve would be over soon and hung up the phone.

He stood in the empty kitchen for a moment, thinking everything over. Suddenly he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He had suggested to Steve that staying with Amy would be a good idea, but after Jasmine protested, he didn't push the issue. Now, as he thought about the fact that they were extremely close to losing Amy tonight, he felt remorseful that he didn't listen to Steve more or that he didn't insist that he stay and keep an eye on his girlfriend. He tried convincing himself that there really had been no right answer to the trouble - that the whole thing had been a catch-22 - but one part of his brain was not listening to the other.

The smell of coffee shook Mike from his trance. He rushed over to the coffee maker and turned it off. Setting the pot off to the side, he wondered if he'd get back to it or not; he needed to tell Steve what happened - something he was not looking the least bit forward to doing.

Moments later, Mike walked in the bedroom and turned on the lamp. Neither Steve nor Jasmine flinched. Mike gently shook Steve's shoulder hoping to wake him up without arousing Jasmine. Luckily, Steve opened his eyes and looked up at his partner.

"I need you to come downstairs," Mike whispered.

Steve, still half asleep, looked at him questioningly.

"Not here," was all Mike said before walking out the door.

Steve became very nervous. Just like middle of the night phone calls, middle of the night wake ups were rarely good. He did his best to hurry out of the bed without waking Jasmine, who hadn't moved a muscle all night. Once he was safely out of her grasp, he blindly made his way down the stairs in the dark. At the landing, he saw Mike standing in the living room looking out the window.

"What the hell is going on, Mike? You've got me scared out of my mind!" Steve admonished.

"Fred just called."

That's all Mike needed to say to send Steve's nerves into overdrive. His heart had already been pounding, but now he was also sick to his stomach.

"What happened?" he whispered, barely getting the words out.

Mike turned to Steve with a slightly despondent look on his face. "She…" He suddenly couldn't speak. This was one of the hardest things he'd had to tell anyone in months. "She tried to choke herself."

Steve sunk onto the couch. He put his head in his hands and leaned over, propping his elbows on his knees.

"They found her with the IV line around her neck," Mike added.

Steve sat silent for what seemed like hours. He finally asked, "Is she…"

"No...no. She's very much among the living. Fred thought it best that you be there when she wakes up though."

Steve, whose emotions were on the verge of breaking free, quickly stood up and headed toward the door. He turned the handle but stopped short of opening the door. Turning to Mike, he saw him holding up a pair of car keys.

Before handing them over, Mike gave Steve some wise words. "I know the hospital isn't that far away, but I also know your head is a mess right now. Just get there in one piece. I don't want to have to visit two people."

Steve nodded ever so slightly and took the keys from Mike.

* * *

Steve walked into Amy's room and found Fred Conrad, in street clothes, sitting in a chair that had been placed at the end of her bed. He sat facing his patient, his hands folded in his lap. Steve's entrance didn't even stir him.

Steve walked over to the bed and looked at Amy, who appeared asleep. She was strapped to the bed - one strap restricting movement from each arm and one across her hips.

"I decided I wanted to see her through an entire episode, so we didn't sedate her this time. I also wanted a clean blood sample," Doctor Conrad said.

"Did she try to get up again?" Steve asked quietly.

"No, but she kept trying to self-inflict harm. It's like she was determined to end her life...and I have no idea why."

Steve could tell Doctor Conrad was beyond frustrated that he didn't know why Amy was going through all this; it was a feeling they shared.

"Mike said she tried to choke herself with the IV line?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Another reason we strapped her arms down."

Amy kept tossing her head back and forth as she fought the remaining bit of drug in her system. She was oblivious to anyone else around.

"She's calmed down a lot," Doctor Conrad mentioned.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed and lightly placed his left hand on Amy's face. "Did she say anything this time?"

"I want to go home. That's all she said...just that she wanted to go home."

Steve bit his lower lip in an effort to fight off the tears. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered.

Doctor Conrad stood up. "I don't know, but I'm going to spend the day trying to figure it out. I've been in this profession since I was eighteen and have never seen anything like this." He shook his head. "Are you staying for a while?"

Steve nodded without turning around. "I'm not leaving this room."

"Okay. I'll be back later. I think she's calmed down enough now that she's no longer a danger to herself, but if anything happens, press the call button." He paused before adding, "I'm sorry I had to call you down like this."

"I should have been here anyway," Steve replied sadly.


	61. Chapter 61

Steve had spent the remainder of the night pacing the floor, sitting beside Amy and holding her hand, and trying to make sense of the mess. He even checked the room for clues that someone had been there, but he found nothing. At one point he called Mike and suggested they get someone down there to dust for prints, but Mike had to disappoint him by reminding him of the utter futility in that - the room was likely full of prints, and it wouldn't really suggest a suspect anyway.

The more Mike thought, the more he was convinced that the answer was something only Doctor Conrad could find, so he implored Steve to practice patience, even though in this case, patience was not one of Steve's virtues. All Steve wanted was to get Amy out of the hell she was living through, and he felt he wasn't currently doing her any justice.

After being satisfied that Amy had calmed down enough to not do herself any harm, Dr. Marquez took off her restraints. She still seemed very restless to Steve, and he wished she would wake up and talk to him. As the light of the new day began shining through the window, Steve sat down on the bed and looked at Amy. Her face kept twitching, and her eyes were darting back and forth underneath her eyelids. Steve gently placed his hand on the side of her face.

"Amy, Sweetheart, wake up. You're having a bad dream. Amy...it's me...wake up, Baby."

The more he talked, the more pronounced her facial movements became. Suddenly her eyes flew open, she reached out, and put her hands around Steve's neck. She squeezed hard enough to cut off his air. He immediately grabbed her arms and tried to pull them away. Finding that she suddenly had a burst of strength, pulling her hands away was a difficult task. He finally pried her away when she became consciously aware of what she was doing and let go.

Steve bent over, coughing and gagging as he tried to breathe again. Amy, breathing heavily, looked around as if she didn't recognize where she was.

"What the…" she muttered. Flashes of her nightmare were clouding her perception of reality. She finally gained her composure and realized everything she had been thinking was a dream. Looking over at Steve, who was still trying to straighten himself out, she grasped what had happened.

"Oh my God! Steve!" She reached out and touched his arm. "What did I do?"

Steve coughed and sat up. He simply shook his head.

Amy started tearing up. "What's wrong? Can't you talk? I tried choking you, didn't I?"

Steve moved his neck around, trying to get the kinks out. "I'm fine," he said in a raspy voice.

Amy cried harder. "No you're not! I tried choking you! Oh GOD!"

Steve looked at her and saw she was quickly losing control of her emotions. He grabbed her, pulled her up off the bed, and gathered her into a tight embrace.

"Shhhhh. It's okay. I'm fine. You were just having a nightmare and took it out on me. I probably deserved it."

He tried making light of the ordeal, hoping it would help her calm down, but instead she got mad.

"You do not deserve that! You don't deserve a girlfriend who tries to kill you in her sleep!" She tried hitting him to make him let go, but he held on tighter.

"I'm not letting go!" he told her, so she stopping slapping him on the back.

"I don't deserve you!" she wailed. "You were right...you shouldn't have to babysit an emotional mess like me for the rest of your life. You never loved me because you can't love someone like me! No one can!"

Steve pushed her away and looked into her eyes. "You think I said that?"

Amy pointed over toward the end of the bed. "You stood right there and said that! You said you never loved me, and that I was just a convenient opportunity and you couldn't wake up looking at the same dreary face every morning for the rest of your life!" She closed her eyes and continued crying.

Steve rested his forehead against hers. "That was all in your mind - part of the nightmare. I would _never_ say that, _ever_! I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life, and I would cherish waking up next to your beautiful face every morning. I swear it to God and anyone else who's listening!"

Amy, still crying, uttered, "I don't deserve you. I should go live alone in the desert where I won't hurt anyone! You should leave me."

"I should leave you because you're sick? That's a real asshole thing to do, and while I'm sure many people over the years would have described me as such, I'd like to think I've outgrown that phase. Unless you think I'm just an ass…"

"No!" she yelled. "But no one would blame you for leaving! I'm a mess!"

"Amy, look at me. Look straight into my eyes."

She slowly did as asked.

"Nothing that is going on is your fault. Nothing! Something is going on, something bad, and Mike, and Doctor Conrad, and I are working on figuring it out. When we do, I bet you all these nightmares and hallucinations will disappear."

"What do you mean, something?"

"I don't know yet. Doctor Conrad has taken some blood samples, and I'm hoping they'll tell us something."

"I don't understand…" Amy muttered.

"You don't have to right now. Just keep telling yourself that none of this is your fault. Not your fault!"

Amy hugged Steve again. They embraced while Amy worked on calming herself down.

"What do you remember about the nightmare?" Steve asked her.

"You were standing there with a bunch of really beautiful women. You kept flirting with them and kissing them and I just stood there and wanted to die. Then you told me you never loved me. It hurt so bad that I tried to choke myself with, I don't know, a rope or string or something."

"Or an IV line," Steve said.

Amy pushed him away. "What?"

"Honey, last night you tried to choke yourself with your IV line. That's why I'm here so early. Doctor Conrad called me in the middle of the night and told me that."

Amy looked at him, completely in shock. "I did?"

Steve nodded. "You don't remember, do you?"

She shook her head and touched her neck. "You stood and laughed at me while I did, so I got mad and tried choking you instead. I guess that's when I woke up." She looked at him, fear in her eyes. "I don't remember something again."

"That's why Doctor Conrad took more blood. He thinks there's something going on that's causing you to do all these dangerous things and not remember."

Amy looked away. "Maybe it would have been easier if I'd just done it," she said sadly.

"Don't you dare! Don't you even think that! I understand that right now the world looks pretty damn bleak, but all your death would cause is more bleakness. My life would be worthless without you! And what about Jasmine? Huh? I think the only way she's hanging on is because she knows that you'll come back for her eventually! You want to take that away from her?"

Tears ran down Amy's face again. "I love her. I love you."

Steve took her face and turned it toward him. "Then don't leave us! Don't make our lives miserable! We will get through this, I swear! We'll figure out what is going on and take care of it! Then you'll heal, get out of here, and I can take you home where you belong."

Amy lay back down. "They said I can't go home."

"I am taking you home. I don't care what I have to do, but you are not going into some depressing facility. You are coming home with me. No one is denying me the opportunity to give you sponge baths."

Amy looked at him oddly and then started to chuckle.

Steve smiled. "I knew I could get you to laugh. I'm serious though; no doctor is taking that away from me."

Amy continued to chuckle. "I hate you sometimes."

"But you mostly love me." He leaned over and kissed her. "Which is why you're going to have faith in me that I will get you out of this. And you are not, under any circumstances, going to leave me!"

Amy wavered, so Steve said, "You're gonna promise me! You're gonna promise that if you get that depressed again, you're gonna tell me so that I have a fair chance at talking you out of it."

"I don't…"

"You'll do it because you love me, and you know I love you too much to let you go there."

Amy eventually nodded. "I do love you."

"Good."

* * *

Steve only left the room once during the rest of the day, and that was to talk with Doctor Conrad. He insisted on staying in the room no matter what. Mike had brought Jasmine and her luggage over around ten that morning, and the three spent the rest of the day hanging around the hospital. Mike kept trying to get Steve to go back to his house and catch a few z's, but every time he brought up the subject, he knew he'd be met with opposition. He knew that even though Steve never vocalized it, the man was scared to death that Amy would try suicide again.

Jasmine could tell that her mother wasn't feeling well, so the little girl curled up beside her and refused to move the rest of the day. The two of them laid together and watched TV, crying suddenly at nothing but their own realization that this was the last day they'd see each other for at least four months. Seeing this made Steve even more upset than he already was. His goal to make the weekend as happy as he could had blown up.

Mike had tried all day to figure something out. The thought that Margaret, or someone, had snuck into the hospital three nights in a row kept gnawing at him, and he was bound and determined to give the question an answer. He tried to get access to the security footage again, but was repeatedly shot down because the officer who had allowed him access before was off for the weekend and none of his subordinates felt it was their place to give Mike such privilege. So he resorted to asking around the hospital, but no one saw anything of the sort, if they were around that late at all. Frustrated and tired, he stood at the window in Amy's room and mindlessly watched the activity below as darkness overtook the city..

"It's really getting foggy out there," he mentioned. "I didn't think it was supposed to get so bad."

Steve, who was sitting on the chair next to Amy's bed, shrugged. "I can't remember the last time I even watched a weather report."

Amy turned the TV channel over to KGO just in time for the news. "Looks like it's worse than you thought, Mike. They're grounding planes at SFO and Oakland."

* * *

"It's going to have to wait until morning, Margaret. They're not letting anyone land or take off until the fog lifts, which might not be until morning."

Margaret stood at the payphone in the lobby of her hotel and fumed. Her plans weren't being ruined by her sworn enemy - they were being ruined by Mother Nature. "Could we drive instead?"

"Are you nuts? I'm not driving in this! You can't see a foot in front of your face! I think it will be just fine to wait until tomorrow. I already called all the necessary people and they said tomorrow morning is fine. I'll be over to get you at eight."

The line went dead, leaving Margaret no chance to argue. She slammed down the receiver and sulked back up to her room.

* * *

As the night went on, Mike kept looking out the window and seeing the fog get thicker and thicker. He decided around ten to head home for some sleep, knowing he'd need it for the emotional day ahead. Amy tried to talk him into staying, but he and Steve agreed that he should go home and get some sleep so that at least one of them was awake tomorrow morning for the custody handoff.

After he left, Jasmine begged Steve to read the princess story again.

"The princess story?" Amy asked.

Steve grabbed the book from Jasmine's suitcase and handed it to her. She in turn showed it to Amy.

"Aunt Jeannie sent me this. It's the best book ever!"

"It's pink and about a princess. I can't imagine why you love it so much," Amy commented, smiling.

"It's a little more than that," Steve told her.

"Oh?"

"Read it, Daddy, read it," Jasmine begged.

Steve told Jasmine to come sit on his lap and read it with him. For the next twenty minutes, Steve and Jasmine read the tale to Amy, who immediately grasped on to the theme.

"Jeannie sent that? How appropriate," Amy said.

"Daddy told me that even though I have to go live with what's-her-name for a while, I should be patient like the princess because I know you guys will come back and take me home."

"That's very true, Princess. I think you should write Jeannie a thank you card for sending you that book," Amy told Jasmine.

Steve got up out of the chair he was sitting in and walked around to the phone. "Better yet, we could call her," he said, grabbing the phone and dialing. He told the operator he wanted to make a collect call.

"You're calling her collect? That's kinda rude, isn't it?" Amy asked.

"She'll accept a call from me," Steve told her, smiling.

"You better pay her back," Amy scolded.

Soon Steve had Jeannie on the phone, much to Amy's surprise. He told her why he'd called and then put Jasmine on the phone. Sitting back down next to her mother, Jasmine took the receiver and talked with Jeannie for a good five minutes, making sure to let her know how much she loved the book. After she said goodbye, she handed the receiver to Amy.

"She wants to talk to you, Mommy," Jasmine informed her.

Amy was surprised and not sure what to say, but she took the phone and greeted Jeannie. Fortunately for Amy, Jeannie did most of the talking, reminding her of what a good guy Steve was and that she should never doubt him. They talked about him and about Mike, and Amy thanked Jeannie profusely for thinking of her daughter. They agreed to meet up for lunch when Jeannie got to town after the current semester was done and ended their conversation. Amy handed Steve back the phone and he too said goodbye to his friend before hanging up.

He looked at Amy and saw her smiling as she cuddled with Jasmine. "You're smiling," he told her.

"Huh?"

"Whatever she said to you must have been good, because you're smiling." He smiled back at her.

Amy snickered. "She just reminded me how lucky I am to have you two in my life, no matter where you are. She also claims you're a good guy, so…"

"She's right, I am. But the two of us are pretty lucky to have you in our lives as well...don't forget that." Steve leaned over and kissed Amy on the lips.

"Eww...kissy face!" Jasmine said, pretending to be grossed out.

Steve looked at Amy. "You know what we have to do now, don't you?"

Both of them turned to Jasmine and kissed her face while she giggled.

* * *

Steve tried several times to sleep in the armchair, but it turned out to be futile. He was uncomfortable, but he was also too wound up. He felt like he needed to be on guard all night in case something happened with Amy - or someone came in. Amy and Jasmine slept cuddled up together all night, the former not stirring once. As dawn broke, Steve's suspicions that someone was coming into Amy's room at night were cemented. Not only had he been there all night preventing anyone from coming in, but the fog had prevented most people from venturing out, including this mystery person...and Amy hadn't had one problem. Steve has glad that she was able to have a good night, but he was also slightly disappointed that he wasn't able to catch anyone.

A little after eight, Mike came in the room and found everyone asleep but Steve.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" he asked.

Steve shook his head.

"Well, if you're going to keep this late-night watch up, you're gonna have to sleep during the day. After we...lose Jasmine," he said, cringing, "I want you to go home and get some sleep. Amy will be fine during the day."

Steve tried protesting, but Mike stopped him short every time until Steve just gave up and agreed. The two men watched Amy and Jasmine sleeping.

"She slept through the night I take it?" Mike asked.

Steve nodded. "Never even moved." He was silent for a moment then turned to Mike. "How do you think she's pulling it off?"

"Who?"

"Margaret. She has to be the one doing this...whatever it is. She hates me, she hates her daughter for dating me...she's somehow torturing us both. How is she pulling it off if she's never been back in the building?"

"Who's to say it's her?"

Steve gave Mike a disbelieving look. "Really, Mike? Who else would it be? The only other person who would have wanted Amy to suffer like this is dead." He shook his head. "No, Margaret Johnson has something to do with this."

"Well don't fret just yet, Buddy Boy. Remember to follow the evidence and not your anger." He paused before bringing up the inevitable. "Are you ready? We need to be there by nine and I heard there's an accident on the 101."

Steve sighed. He stood up and walked over to the two girls asleep on the bed. Not knowing whom to wake first, he decided on Amy. He gently shook her shoulder.

"Amy, Sweetheart, wake up."

Amy stirred and opened her eyes. Seeing Steve, she initially smiled, but since he wasn't, her smile turned into a frown.

"Oh. It's morning, isn't it?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, it is. Mike and I need to get going. We have to be there by nine."

The conversation woke up Jasmine. "What's going on?" she asked.

Amy did her best to hold back her tears. "It's time for you to go, Baby."

Jasmine looked at Amy. "Go?"

"Remember, Grandpa and I are taking you to the courthouse this morning," Steve reminded her.

Jasmine clung to Amy's arm. "No, I'm not going!"

Amy bit her lip. "Sweetie, you have to go. The judge says you have to, and you have to do what a judge says or they put you in jail," she told Jasmine.

Jasmine simply started crying which made Amy start crying. The two hugged as long as Steve would allow. Even though it killed him to do so, he eventually had to break them apart.

"We gotta go," he said quietly.

Amy looked at him. "I know." She turned her attention to her daughter and said into her ear, "You be a very good girl for me, okay? Think of me, Daddy, and Grandpa every day...write us letters. Write in your journal...watch TV all day if you have to...just don't be sad, alright? It won't be long. Get a calendar and x off all the days as they end. When you get to the end of August, we'll be together again, I guarantee it. You can do this for me, can't you?"

Jasmine nodded and lifted her head off her mother's shoulder. Her face was wet with tears. "I love you, Mommy," she whispered.

"I love you so much," Amy whispered back. "Now go with Daddy." Amy pushed her away knowing that if the little girl didn't leave soon, she'd never let her go.

Steve had Mike take Jasmine out into the hall so that he could talk to Amy alone.

"I don't know how I'm gonna get through this, Steve. I already want to get out of this bed and run away with her!"

Steve wrapped her up in his arms. "You'll get through it...we'll get through it together. It may take a lot of tears and swearing, but we'll get there."

"I don't know…" she mumbled through tears. "I can't handle all this anymore. I can't handle the pain…"

"Yes you can! You know you can! You're stronger than the pain. Keep telling yourself that."

"I'm not...I can't...don't leave me!" she sobbed.

"You want her to go with Mike and I stay here?"

Amy shook her head. "She needs you too."

"Sweetheart, I can't be in two places at once. What do you want me to do?"

"Go. Just...go," she sighed.

Steve was worried that she was giving up. "I won't be gone long." He rubbed her back and thought of what he could say to ease her pain.

"You told Jasmine to write in her journal while she's in Arizona, right? Why don't you do that?"

"Write in Jasmine's journal?"

Steve chuckled. "No. Write down your thoughts while I'm gone. Get them out of your head. When I come back, we can talk through them. At least it will give you a good distraction until I get back. Can you do that for me?"

"I guess," she said half-heartedly.

"Thank you." He pulled out of the embrace. "After you write, have them give you some Valium. You'll sleep through the pain."

Amy nodded.

"I love you so much, Amy Johnson; please don't give up on me," Steve said, looking into her eyes.

"I love you too, Steven Keller," Amy whispered, still sobbing.

They kissed goodbye before Steve left the room. After he was gone, Amy broke down and cried as hard as she could.

* * *

Steve and Mike sat in Judge Harding's office waiting for Beatrice Lynch to arrive. Both were silently hoping she wouldn't make it. Jasmine sat curled up in Steve's lap with her head buried in his shoulder. She would be calm for a while, but then she'd start crying, and Steve would have to calm her down. Both he and Mike were sick with worry about the poor girl and how she'd survive this.

Shortly after nine, Beatrice and her lawyer walked in the office with phony smiles plastered on their faces.

"Good morning, everyone! Sorry we're a bit late; we underestimated San Francisco traffic."

Judge Harding and Mike shot each other disgusted looks.

Beatrice knelt down next to Steve's chair and looked at Jasmine. "Are you ready to go home?"

"She's not going home; she's going with you. Your house is not her home," Steve snarled.

"Steve!" Mike scolded.

Steve took a deep breath.

"You must be the boyfriend we heard about," Beatrice told Steve. "Well...I'm sure we can work out phone calls or something. I'm not out to take her away from her old life completely."

"That's a wise decision, Mrs. Lynch," Judge Harding told her, a bit of snideness evident in his voice.

Beatrice ignored Judge Harding. "Come on, Jasmine, it's time to go. We have a plane to catch." She put her hand out like she expected Jasmine to take it.

Jasmine turned her head toward Beatrice. "No!" she spat.

Beatrice was taken aback. Steve took another deep breath and pushed Jasmine off his shoulder so that she was looking at him.

"Princess, remember that you promised you'd be a good girl, because being good will make the time go by faster. Don't break that promise you made Mommy, please?"

Beatrice rolled her eyes at Steve referring to Amy as "Mommy".

With tears in her eyes, Jasmine nodded and said, "I won't, Daddy."

Beatrice rolled her eyes again. Who did these people think they were? Her first order of business was going to have to be breaking Jasmine of referring to these strangers as her family.

Steve placed both his hands on the sides of Jasmine's face. "Always remember that Mommy and I love you...so much...and this won't be forever. You can do this, because you're a strong girl."

Jasmine threw her arms around Steve. "I'll miss you, Daddy," she cried.

Steve held on to her for dear life. "I'll miss you too."

They embraced for longer than Beatrice was pleased with. She cleared her throat, which caused Judge Harding to shoot her a dirty look.

Steve sighed. Short of kidnapping Jasmine, he knew their time was up. He let go of the little girl and scooted her off his lap. He then got into his wallet and pulled out one of his business cards. He grabbed a pen off Judge Harding's desk and wrote something on the back of the card.

Handing the card to Jasmine, he said, "Any time you feel bad, or lonely, or even if you just want to talk, call me. This number," he said, pointing to the number he'd just written, "is my number at home." Turning the card over, he pointed to the number on the front. "And this is my number at the police station. You promise you'll call?"

Jasmine took the card and nodded. The two hugged again and exchanged kisses. Jasmine and Mike did the same.

Running out of patience of the maudlin scene, Beatrice forcefully took Jasmine's hand and led her to the door. Jasmine pulled on her hand, making her stop. She turned back around and looked at her adopted father and grandfather.

"I'll see you in four months," she said tearfully before turning back and around and letting her aunt lead her out the door.

Several minutes later, Steve and Mike walked out of Judge Harding's office. Steve walked a ways and then stopped. Mike looked at him, concerned.

"You okay, Buddy Boy?" he asked.

Steve nodded slightly. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

Steve shrugged. "Who would have thought that I would ever be upset about not seeing a six year old again? Me." He chuckled. "What got into me?"

"You fell in love with her mom," Mike told him. "Simple as that."

Steve looked down at the ground. Mike could tell that anything and everything that he'd been bottling up was about to come out. He put his hand on the back of Steve's neck and pulled him into a hug. Despite his normally stoic behavior, Steve allowed himself to break down into his best friend's shoulder.

"Come on...let's go grab something to eat before we go back to the hospital. Amy should be sleeping now anyway. Let's give her some time," Mike suggested. Steve, regaining his composure, agreed.


	62. Chapter 62

Fred Conrad stood in the hallway across from Amy's room staring at the closed door. He was trying to make sense of what had just happened, but try as he may, nothing was helping. He hadn't had any other choice but to watch it happen, but it all still seemed wrong somehow. Now he was going to have to explain everything to Steve and Mike, and he had no idea what to say. Unfortunately for him, he had little time to figure that out.

"Something troubling you, Fred?" Mike asked, snapping the doctor from his trance.

Steve also noticed the pained look on the doctor's face...and the fact that he was standing in front of Amy's door. Panicked, he ran into Amy's room. Fred tried to stop him to no avail. Within seconds, Steve came back out to the hall and looked at Fred.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"What do you mean? She's not in there?" Mike asked Steve.

Steve shook his head.

Fred took a deep breath. "Follow me," he told the men. Mike and Steve looked at each other quizzically, but followed the doctor down the hall and to the nurses' station.

"Just tell me where she is!" Steve implored. Her state of mind hadn't been great when he left, leaving him to worry that she was in the morgue.

"I don't know where she is," Fred admitted. Seeing that both men didn't understand, he handed them a piece of paper.

Steve took it and quickly scanned over the words. "What is this?"

Mike put on his glasses and took a closer look. "It's a power of attorney." His eyes went to the bottom of the page. "It's signed by Amy."

Fred started explaining. "About forty-five minutes after you guys left, a lawyer comes in and tells me I need to get Amy ready to be transported and hands me this paper. He tells me that her mother is taking custody of her because we're not attending to her needs - that we're actually making her worse. Her mother was having her moved to a different hospital."

Steve stood dumbfounded. "She can't do that! Amy's an adult and can make her own medical decisions!"

Mike kept reading the paper. Then he sighed.

Steve picked up on Mike's exasperation. "What? Are you saying she can?"

He read the clause that stated that in the case of severe depression and anxiety, suicide attempts, delusions, and purposely putting herself in harm's way, Margaret Johnson could take over her daughter's life, including making her medical decisions.

"I hate to admit it, but all of that was happening," Fred said. "Trust me, the last thing I wanted was to let her leave, but I didn't have any choice!"

"She was not incapable of making her own decisions!" Steve shouted. "She was perfectly fine!"

Both men looked at him. "Okay, sure, she was depressed! But wouldn't you be if you were stuck in bed all day, suffering from nightmares all night? She was fully capable of making up her own mind! Her mother had no right to come back into this hospital and drag her off! No right!"

Steve was so angry that his face was turning red. He started pacing around the hallway.

"Actually, she wasn't here; only her attorney came," Fred told Steve.

"Amy wouldn't have let this happen; she would have fought it. What did she say?" Steve asked.

"Actually, nothing. We'd given her a dose of Valium, so she was out of it."

Steve let off an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Did this lawyer say where they were going?" Mike asked.

Fred shrugged, but a nurse who had been listening in behind them piped up. "I think I heard him say something about Los Angeles. I went down with them and I swear I heard the ambulance driver mention Los Robles, which is a hospital in Thousand Oaks."

"That would make sense," Mike said. "She'd take her back home."

"She was always trying to get her to go back home," Steve muttered. "I can't believe she'd do it when Amy was so vulnerable. We have to get her back, Mike!"

"How? We don't have any power of attorney over her either, and we won't be able to convince anyone that Amy isn't any of the things listed here! Listen, Buddy Boy, I would love nothing more than to get her away from her mother, but I don't see how until Amy straightens herself out."

Steve scoffed. "That won't happen now! If she wasn't suicidal before, she will be now." The mention of that made tears well up in Steve's eyes.

"Now don't go down that road! She won't resort to that!" Mike scolded. He hated seeing his partner so upset and irrational.

No one said anything for a moment until Steve piped up. "How would she have even known?"

"Known what?" Mike asked.

"Known that Amy was so depressed? If she truly hadn't been here since you kicked her out, then she wouldn't have seen Amy awake at all, right?"

Mike and Fred both nodded.

"So then how did she know?"

"Maybe Karen or Kaye mentioned it to her," Mike suggested. "Did you tell Karen about Amy when you went to see her?"

Steve nodded his head. "Neither one of them had seen Margaret since the day it happened though. Kaye assumed Margaret went back home since she hadn't even bothered to come back and check on her niece. No...this proves it. She was coming in here at night and messing with Amy."

"Doctor, it's the lab. They have Miss Johnson's blood work results," the nurse told Fred.

He took the phone and during the course of the conversation, became slightly aggravated. After hanging up, he looked at Steve and Mike. "PCP."

"What?" Steve and Mike said in perfect unison,

"She had PCP in her system. Both samples tested positive for PCP."

The two inspectors looked at each other and then back at Fred. "How would that happen?" Mike inquired.

Before Fred had a chance to register a theory, Steve spoke up. "That's what she was doing. She was doping Amy." He looked at Fred. "Would PCP cause all the things we saw?"

He nodded. "It would also explain why she didn't remember anything."

Steve just shook his head. "She was so desperate to get her daughter away from me that she drugged her, hoping Amy would go nuts. Then she could pull out that power of attorney and claim guardianship over her. She made her daughter go insane to serve her own purpose."

"Well, in that case, then this is invalid...and we have a kidnapping on our hands. But we have to prove it was Margaret who did the drugging. Right now we have zero proof the woman was even here...and you know this lawyer, whoever he is, will deny everything." The wheels in Mike's head started turning.

"So, where do we start?" Steve asked eagerly. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to rescue Amy and put her mother where she belonged.

"Security tapes. One of the cameras in this building had to have caught something!" Mike and Steve, along with Fred - who was just as eager to nail Margaret for messing with his patient and his hospital - headed to the elevator.

* * *

For the next four hours, all three men sat and watched more footage than they ever cared to. Steve insisted that they look at every nurse they saw; if Amy saw a nurse in her dreams, then Margaret likely came in dressed like one to avoid detection. At the end of the three days' worth of footage, they had scenes with five possible women, but the lab would have to work on the film to make it clearer.

As they walked out of the security office, Mike asked Fred what ambulance service took Amy away. He didn't know, so he made a quick call upstairs. The nurse told him she didn't get a good look. Walking out, Steve asked Mike why that mattered.

"Because they will be able to tell me who ordered the transport and exactly where they were going. We're going to get that lawyer to confess to something," Mike said angrily.

"Good idea," Steve uttered. "Back to the station?"

Mike stopped walking and turned to Steve. "I'm going back to the station. You're going home."

"What?!" Steve asked, outraged. "Why?"

"For starters, you're still on leave. Plus, this case involves Amy, and if you're anywhere near it, IA will have a field day. There is no way I am giving them more fuel for their fire!"

"Son of a…" Steve muttered, even though he knew Mike was right.

"Your car is still at the station, isn't it?"

Steve nodded. That seemed like years ago even though it was only a week.

"I'll drive you back to get it, but then you are going home!"

"You'll keep me in the loop though?"

"Have I ever not?" Mike asked, grinning.

* * *

The minute Mike got back to his office, he made a mental list of everything he needed to check on. "Haseejian!" he shouted.

The sergeant snapped to attention and ran over to Mike. "Yes, sir?"

"You ever get that R &amp; I report on Margaret Johnson?"

Haseejian shook his head. "Haven't heard from them, no."

"Go light a fire under them then!" Mike barked. Haseejian ran out the door.

Everyone else in the room was suddenly at full attention. Mike was not happy and they knew it. After Mike went into his office, Bill decided to be brave and ask Mike what was going on.

"Bill, get me a list of all the ambulance services in town. Actually, get me a list of ambulance services in Los Angeles as well."

"Los Angeles?" Bill asked. He was afraid of the length of the San Francisco list, but adding LA to it made him cranky.

"Yes. Don't just stand there! You have a lot of work to do!"

Bill turned around and went back to his desk, unsure of just where to start.

Mike then shouted at Lessing to get him the phone number for Los Robles Hospital in Thousand Oaks. Just as he did, Captain Olsen walked into the squad room.

"Thousand Oaks? Are you lost, Mike?" he asked.

"No, I have a kidnapping on my hands."

"Kidnapping? That's funny - I would have sworn I saw the word 'homicide' on the door as I came in."

"Don't you worry...it's all related," Mike grumbled.

Olsen sat down. "Do tell."

"Amy Johnson."

"Steve's girlfriend? Pretty sure we solved that."

"This time it's her mother doing the kidnapping. I'm pretty sure she was sneaking into the hospital at night and giving her daughter PCP to make her go crazy. She did this to validate a power of attorney that stated she could take over her daughter's affairs if she was not of sound mind. Well, drugging someone against their will sort of invalidates that."

"How does kidnapping come into play here?"

"Margaret Johnson took her daughter out of the hospital this morning. I think she's headed to Thousand Oaks."

Olsen nodded. "You keep saying 'I'. Where's Keller in all this?"

"I sent him home."

"Good. I don't want to give those idiots in IA any more ideas."

"Have you heard anything more about that?" Mike asked.

Olsen shook his head. "Not a damn thing. They've suddenly become as tight-lipped as the CIA. It's ridiculous. I know he shouldn't have gone in that house alone, or at all, but they should have just let us take care of it. It's not like he's a habitual rule violator. Say, you need any help with this?"

Mike looked at him funny. "You want to help?"

Olsen shrugged. "I'd kind of like Steve back in one piece, and I'm guessing he's in several right now?"

Mike nodded. "I'm worried, Rudy. Very worried. Hey, maybe you could go give Haseejian a hand in R &amp; I. I've been trying to get something on Margaret Johnson since Thursday."

Olsen stood up. "I'm on it."

Mike sat down on the edge of his desk, contemplating his next move. He suddenly felt very uneasy about something.

* * *

Olsen came back in with a sheet of paper and found Mike on the phone.

"She hasn't arrived?" Mike looked at his watch and then at Olsen. "How long would it take to get from here to Thousand Oaks you suppose?"

"Probably five, maybe six hours," Olsen answered.

"So if they left around nine...they should get there at four, five." Mike looked at his watch again and saw it was only a little before four.

"Okay, will you call me when they do arrive? Yes, Lieutenant Stone in homicide. Thank you."

"Who was that?" Olsen asked.

"The hospital where we think Margaret is taking Amy. At least they know she's coming - that's a positive. What have you got?"

"R &amp; I on Margaret Johnson. No priors, but one pretty interesting thing did come up after a little digging." Olsen handed the paper to Mike.

Mike put on his glasses and looked over the information. "A mental hospital in Nebraska?"

Olsen sat down. "From what you told me earlier about this woman, I don't think we should be so shocked."

"I wonder what she was in for," Mike muttered. "Too bad we'll likely never find out."

Bill Tanner popped his head in the office. "Mike, I found the ambulance company. It was Golden Gate Ambulance. The driver picked up Amy Johnson around nine this morning and was scheduled to head to the airport right after."

"Wait, they were flying out?" Mike questioned.

"Apparently they were supposed to do this last night, but the fog grounded all planes. Thing is, they haven't heard from their driver since he told them he was leaving the hospital. They've been trying to get ahold of him all day."

"What? Now there's a missing ambulance out there?! What the hell is going on?" Mike was reaching his limit with this case.

"They've tried everything to get in touch with the driver. I guess this is pretty unusual, because this guy has always been very good about staying in touch with dispatch. They sounded pretty concerned."

"Put out an APB for the driver and the ambulance," Mike told Bill, who promptly left the office.

He was soon replaced by Lessing. "I called her father's firm and asked if anyone had come up here recently. They said an attorney named Bryan Palermo did fly up here yesterday afternoon. The secretary I talked to thinks he had been talking with Margaret Johnson, but couldn't be sure."

"Did you find out where he's staying?" Mike asked.

Lessing nodded. "No answer."

Mike shook his head. "He's probably long gone. Thanks, Lee."

Lessing left the office. Mike and Olsen looked at each other. "What now?" Olsen asked.

"I have an APB out for Margaret and Amy...and now the ambulance driver. I could get one out for this so-called lawyer. The hospital is going to call when, or if, they arrive." Mike sat back in his chair. "They've got to be headed that way! Where else would she take her daughter but home?"

"Maybe Steve would know," Olsen suggested.

Mike nodded. "Maybe."

"Tell you what...I'll go call the airport, and you call Steve," Olsen said, standing up and leaving the office.

Mike picked up the phone and dialed Steve's number. There was no answer so, assuming he was probably asleep, Mike decided to just head over there.

* * *

Mike pulled the LTD up to the curb in front of Steve's apartment. His Porsche was parked out front as well, so Mike knew Steve was home. What he didn't know was what was happening inside.

Mike climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. Steve didn't answer, so he knocked again. Still nothing.

"Steve? It's Mike! Wake up and open the door!"

Mike tried the handle and found that the door was unlocked. He pushed open the door expecting to see an empty living room. What he saw was the place looking exactly the same as it had the prior Wednesday after Steve's tantrum. Turning toward the sofa, he first spotted the collection of beer bottles on the coffee table. It had been a few hours since Mike sent Steve home, but he couldn't figure out why Steve would have drunk six bottles of beer in that little time. Then he laid eyes on his partner, who appeared to be passed out on the couch.

Mike couldn't fathom what had caused this sudden change in mood. He knew the boy was upset over Amy's disappearance, but he seemed more determined than depressed. He tried to arouse Steve, but he was out cold.

Mike looked all around the apartment, furiously trying to piece the puzzle together. While thinking, he decided to clean up the mess. As he was picking up the empty bottles, he noticed a piece of paper, folded like a letter, laying open amongst the empties. He picked it up and noticed that it indeed was a letter. As he started to read it, his heart fell into his stomach, and he felt weak in the knees.

"Oh...my...God…" was all he could say.

Behind him, he heard Steve growing restless. He kept muttering something that Mike couldn't make out. Getting down closer to Steve's head, he could understand it more clearly…"Amy." Steve kept muttering Amy's name along with the words, "Don't leave me."

Mike looked back at the letter again. It explained to Steve how she just couldn't take the pain anymore. She couldn't live with knowing what her mother was capable of. She couldn't stand the fact that Jasmine had to live with strangers. She couldn't go one being a burden and bad luck to Steve. She apologized profusely, thanked him for the best week of her life, and signed it, "Love you always."

Mike let the letter fall to the floor as he watched Steve struggle. What was going to happen now? He saw nothing but many dark days ahead.

* * *

**_A/N: Yes, I did leave this on a cliffhanger, but never fear: its sequel is posted. Check out my other story "Tangled Up and Blue"._**


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